Pseud
by Vergil's Inferno
Summary: Nero is doing his master's in modern and classical literature; one accidental class later, he meets his hero beyond heroes thanks to a substitute teacher who looks vaguely familiar. Disclaimer: I don't own the any of the characters used in this story; please note that the literature and titles used do not exist, excluding snippets taken from Dante's Inferno.
1. Friday morning

For my mutual; the one who's inspiration hits me square in the face every day.  
Every ounce of pizza and cake in the world belongs to you.

* * *

Nero sat all alone in the mini auditorium for his one and only class at ten in the morning. The time on his cellphone blinked nine thirty eight as he waited for the class to fill; most of the lectures ended on the precipice of the oncoming hour, so he had a good couple of minutes before any of his classmates ran into the room out of breath from the other side of campus.

Though the thought of skipping the class hung heavy in his mind every week, he would always find himself dragging his body through his empty dorm and getting ready at the multiple save points scattered in his solitary ten by fifteen metre bedroom. It was his favourite class, the one he waited an entire week to look forward to, and once it was over it was home free to a weekend filled to the brim with endless nagging and complaints. There was a vague time in his life when he generally missed home, but he soon realised it was the familiarity of the house itself and not the people contained within it; like a reasonably tame version of Resident Evil without the killing and the zombies. He took the thought back – without the killing.

He would heave himself across the room for some clean clothes while the kettle boiled for his traditional morning English tea and enjoyed the solitude that came with being a master's student in a campus dorm; having a roommate was a luxury he chose to not divulge owing to him hating people in general, and it wasn't the people per say, but rather the humanity within them that irked his sanity to its very core. There were lists of reasons he chose to live alone, but the line that remained at the top of them for countless years had to be 'peace and quiet'; he was a jumbled, messy, chaotic soul, but there was always a method to his lazy madness. Having another living and breathing person in his space would count as counter-productive to his disordered world.

Simply put, he was a genius. Whether he smeared it across his face with peanut butter or had a sign hanging around his neck, the fact remained known to everyone in the faculty including his lecturers; he enjoyed one subject and one alone, reducing him to the most adorable, straight-faced seat filler in two out of his three classes. He sipped at his bitter, creamy tea, contently thinking about the topic of today's discussion with his fellow students.

He was in his final six months of his Master's degree in classical literature, flying through its predecessors at the lowest time required to complete them; with three years as an undergrad and one spent on his honours, he climbed up the literary tree with ease thanks to his ultimate love for the genre introduced to him by someone he considered a complete stranger, even after knowing her for almost twelve years – the memories of his years at the orphanage reading the numerous books on display in a corner by himself held a special place in his head with him having to dig a deep enough hole for them to never be resurrected ever again.

His signature spot lied in the dead centre of the room: he counted the number of rows and met it halfway, shimmying to the column closest to the middle where he hit the acoustic sweet spot of the hall; it was considered his seat, so much so that people refrained from sitting in it. If he was forced to sit anywhere else, he would punish his fellow students by keeping his mouth shut for the duration of the lesson, allowing them to answer the hundreds of questions spewed forth by their favourite lecturer. Even though he loved being interactive as much as possible, his guilty pleasure lied in hearing the like-minded perspectives and interpretations of their set-work piece of literature among his peers; there was no better feeling than being proven wrong and essentially providing a better understanding of your craft. That was what he lived for – the constant stream of knowledge flowing through the sands of time, completing a compelling picture of an untold story yet to be discovered.

Rock opera blared in his noise-isolating headphones as he flipped through his notepad to doodle a few minutes away, grabbing a clutch pencil out of his satchel and clicking it an even number of times as an unhealthy habit. He began in the left corner of the page, ignoring the general margin and drawing small, loopy bunnies running across the paper, jotting them down with a variety of accents that made them different from the next. While he drew, his eyes blinked slowly to the soothing drown of the music pulsing in his eardrums; he lazily rested his head on his arm, moving and circling the lead across the open canvas in front of him too much in his element to notice the unfamiliar figure walk straight past him to the front of the room, neither giving a hint of acknowledgement to the other.

Nero was at the final loop in his professional doodle when a bush of white hair caught his blind spot; in the corner of his eye stood a complete stranger, unpacking a duffel bag with a spread of notes on the table while a laptop bag sat over his shoulders. He was meticulous in his actions, sorting through the stacks of paperwork in the duffel and laying them out neatly in chronological order as he placed their set-work reader to its right, then placing it back in the duffel with furrowed eyebrows, keeping enough space for him to move the overhead projector should he use it. Nobody dared use the piece of equipment owing to the rusting pieces inside that hummed together to make the most horrible noise imaginable. He swiftly cleaned the writing board leaving no traces of chalk or residue; he earned a few points on Nero's scorecard because he was old school.

Rather than study his cleanliness and attention to detail, Nero took a good, sly look at what they would be dealing with today, and unfortunately for the sole student in the empty room the man in front of him looked impeccable: dressed in black head to toe, the cotton shirt was figure hugging and his pants hung loosely on his hips; modern, half-rimmed glasses sat comfortably on the bridge of his nose; the straight, white hair stood out most as tufts of it tickled on his forehead and he mercilessly glided his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. A slim waist, bulging arms, and broad enough shoulders that would make you weak in the knees stared him square in the face, hoping with all of his might that it wasn't going to distract him and the overall learning process.

Nero unknowingly glared across the chasm of air in disgust: if the substitute had a brain on him, the world was officially deemed too unfair for his own taste. Without having to admit it out loud, he was undeniably attracted to the man; there was something so familiar about him yet so foreign that it intrigued him to the extent of wanting to engage in a conversation outside the boundaries of his current literary box. He almost immediately wiped the idea from his head, knowing a conversation outside of anything that didn't come from a book was outright insanity, but he couldn't deny the magnetic pull that the stranger held on him from nowhere. He moved the headphones off one ear to hear if he mistakenly began talking to him in not seeing the humungous red fluffy balls covering his ears. It's enough that he looked the way he looked, but if he sounded the way Nero thought he did…

The man at the front of the room sensed the lone heartbeat at its centre, increasing in pace with every single one of his movements; it could be nervousness; it could be fascination; it could be displeasure at a new face – he had encountered many new classes before and had all of them wrapped around his long, pale, creamy finger, and this one would be no different; all it took was a quick raised eyebrow and an intense look with deep cerulean blue eyes in Nero's direction and the routine, sombre echo ringing in his ears dissipated for half a second. The room was silent as his heart skipped a beat, and the man couldn't keep the smugness from his face. "Just breathe."

His logic had paid off, yet he barely heard the words leave his mouth: his voice was irrevocably deep and soothing, soft, and dripping in ecstasy. "What-"

"Only two hours, three minutes, and eight seconds of having to look at me." His smirk shifted to the side as he pushed his glasses further up his nose using a strategically positioned middle finger. "And I don't think your classmates would let you live after finding a weakness."

Maybe he wouldn't be so bad - Nero wouldn't go easy on him though. "What weakness?"

"You're kidding, right?" His face was pure steel, but everything about him implied the direct opposite: the sass as he relaxed his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side, tongue in cheek, reverberated from him as the class began to fill: the bottleneck at the door grew thick as the female half of his class stopped in their tracks to take him wholly in, gasping over threshold at the overhaul of expectancy of their lecturer. Many of them did a double take at the room number on the outside wall.

"Please, come in." The man moved to the base of the stairs and called to the group bunched in the corner at the door. "You're the classic literature with Mr Kent?" A majority of the group nodded – the females who assumed the brute of a man spoke to them and them only – and he waved with his hand for them to move faster. "I can't be the only one wanting a weekend."

What Nero heard next was a collective fit of giggles as every one of his classmates of the opposite species filled in from the front row, needing a close up of the creature capable of quenching their hormonal thirsts one by one. He walked up the stairs two at a time, closing the door behind the last student and speaking as he carefully stepped down them. Classy. "Good morning everyone. My name is Dante." He popped the buttons on his cuffs and they flailed with gravity as he moved. "Not Mr Dante, not Dr Dante, Dante." He curled one sleeve to his elbow. "I was asked to present this class not on your set-work but on something completely different-" then the other sleeve, "-to get your juices flowing in more than one direction." He reached the bottom and flattened his hand on the wood, turning all of the girls' eyes to the piece of him that was closest; his veiny arms and hands didn't disappoint and you could see the strength flowing through them in his immobile state. "I was also told that there is a particular person in here that is shouldn't be allowed to answer any questions I ask and that the rest of you wouldn't dare point him out for the sake of keeping face." He leaned forward on the desk and swung his feet behind him, strangely making the whole room laugh. "Wherever you are, please state your name."

Dante burned Nero with his icy eyes daring him to speak; where would he come to a lecture not fully prepared? The room went silent and everyone's chair turned to a rehearsed spot at the centre of the hall where he inadvertently raised his hand for the sake of his class. He moved his glasses again, giving the room a clear view of his toned forearms. "Well, Nero, I urge you to answer as much as you can – the piece we're looking at today is quite challenging."

The class caught the underlying comment. "I didn't say my name-"

"I asked you to, so joke's on you, hah!" Dante pointed a playful finger at Nero to accentuate his retort before going through several transparencies on his desk until he found the correct one. The class chuckled heartily at the easy going substitute, thinking him a well-deserved break from the all serious and diligent Mr Kent.

Dante quickly found a plug for the projector and switched it on, the dreadful sound bouncing off the poorly balanced walls. Everyone in the room expected it except for Dante, so the element of surprise didn't shake them. Nero spoke for the first time after the official start of the lesson. "I think it's best for it not to be-"

Out of nowhere, a dull thump caught the class off guard as they watched him hit the side of the whizzing box with a calm and unwavering slap, and the grinding sound from all the years of overuse vanished into thin air. "For it to not be what?" The class was too busy picking their jaws up from the floor to answer, so Nero just shook his head and urged the substitute to carry on with the lesson. He reached in front of him for the transparency and placed it over the light, the image reflecting on the white screen he pulled down after cleaning the green board behind it.

The words staring back at them made no sense; apart from it being in a peculiar font and shape, it bared no resemblance to the English language. On the surface they could make out a few of them, but they fought against their better instincts in assuming the correct translation without the proper cohesive knowledge of the foreign script. "Anyone familiar with this one?"

A voice came from the front row. "We can't read it."

"You can't read Latin?" Dante looked around the class for confirmation of the sad fact. "You're studying classical literature and you can't read Latin?" In a short space of time, his charisma and understanding of the subject matter compelled the class to believe and hang on his words and tone for their dear lives, and each grave face grew worried in their pursuit in having to learn a new language. As if life couldn't get any harder. Thankfully, the atmosphere softened as a cute laugh fell out of his mouth and to the floor. "I'm kidding – there are little instances where you would encounter this language in classical scripts, and it also depends on which aspect you choose to cover in your research." He removed the original and replaced it with a handwritten one. "When you see the English version, it might make more sense. I took a chance, that's all."

The newer version made more sense, yet still didn't; the class was able to read it, but recognising it was extra feat by itself; most of the students in the class got stuck with the title of the work that Dante had not translated in the English version. They all took a jab at trying to guess what it meant based on the feel and emotion evoked from the lines that followed it, shouting out every word they knew that vaguely resembled it. Nero had a pen and page on standby, ready to strip it line for line and find the deeper cause that was hidden by the pretty words and the pictures it painted. "I don't think you need to copy this down, Nero; I have a feeling you may know it." The challenging eyebrow was back, much to the delight of the first row. "If you're the spark Kent thinks you are, of course."

It was the class's turn to have fun as a collective 'oooooooooh' washed through the rows of students. They saw the look on Dante's face and guessed he wouldn't like it one bit; Nero was always up for a test, but dare demean his love and comprehension of the only thing that had kept him sane for most of his life and you were asking for a world of hurt and brains splattered on the floor. Now it was a matter of pride – twin minds having it out to prove who of the two were more capable of giving the due interpretation it deserved. He gave Dante a face that meant business, but upon seeing the poem in front of him he came to that he wasn't being provoked; the substitute's face acted as a mere shell to a honest hope that he knew the passage above. "This is Vergil. I'd recognise that style anywhere."

Dante kept as cool as he would, but everyone could catch a glimpse at the seething excitement boiling in his belly. "Do you know it?"

"He's my favourite author, but I've never seen this before." Nero dug as deep as he could, but none of the shining lines clicked in his memory bank. "But it is Vergil; I'm certain of it."

The class turned for confirmation from the substitute. "It is Vergil." They simultaneously smiled and the unseeing bomb inside in class diffused with a pop; the room took a deep breath as the cocky smirk was back on Dante's face. "And that's okay; I asked him to write this one especially for this class."

He wasn't buying it, although it made good reason as to why he had never come across the single verse; unknown to the rest of the class, Nero was obsessed with him, and needless to say he was slightly offended by the comments being made by Dante – how he managed to get one of the most famous, enigmatic writers of the twenty first century to write an entirely new piece just for a master's degree class was impossible. "And how did you do that?"

He haughtily scratched at the back of his head as if caught in a lie. "You don't know what Vergil looks like, do you?"

"Who does?"

"Then I can't explain how I did it." He moved his sleeves up further, wishing for Nero to test him again. The aim was not to intimidate, but already claiming the one up on him would be milked for the next two hours. "Now may we carry on with the lesson, or is there something else you need to interrogate me on?"

The room went silent initially, waiting for any hint of movement from the two; it hung in the air like a proverbial elephant in the room until a faint 'ooooh snaaaaaaaaaaap' could be heard all the way in the back, resuming the raucous laughter that fizzed away a few minutes prior. Nero shook his head, serious yet amused. "I do apologise, sir."

"Not sir: Dante." He cleared his throat for good measure, trying to be stern and lost, pouting in their general direction. "Pretty please." He could practically hear every single one of his female classmates either glaring at him or edging him on for their substitute to become more inappropriate whilst squeezing their legs together for good measure. Even though he hated to admit it, he got the vibe that Dante knew what he was doing. "Could we all take a quick look at the poem and compress all the respective years of our lives into the next two hours or so; if you don't, this is going to hit you harder than you would expect."

The class turned their heads to the screen and carefully read the poem line for line:

 _Nocumentum:_

 _Alone, I can do nothing;_  
 _Lovingly addicted to my own sadness_  
 _you sink into me like I have nothing left -_  
 _As you chase the forgotten sands of time_  
 _To retrieve every piece of my soul_  
 _Dancing, joyous for its freedom_  
 _Out of the dilapidated frame_  
 _That was once yours, but ceasing to exist._  
 _With a gentle tug at my heartstrings_  
 _you played a familiar song_  
 _That ate me from the inside out:_  
 _Feeling my emptiness in your ravaged state_  
 _you laugh and cry,_  
 _Withering inside me as your final resting place._

Dante sat on the table and swung his legs over the edge, moving his glasses over is forehead. "I assume not many of you are familiar with his work, but in a nutshell it's kinda depressing. Vergil is an author that writes abstract to the max, not really focusing on one topic in particular but writing whatever came into his head; his works are a clearer representation of what actually goes on in an author's mind before the tens and hundreds of editing one piece goes through – he always chose one verse for each point, each feeling and each emotion, because he believed anything beyond that was preposterous, nonsensical babble added for dramatic effect." He placed his hand on his chest and took a deep breath, letting his shoulders drop at the exhale for dramatic effect. "His words, not mine."

To drive the thought home he stood on the table in clear view of the entire class. "He also decided on writing about topics he didn't fully understand; sure, the more common place, the more readers related to it, but he wanted an audience that chose a challenge in opting to put themselves in his shoes and crave to understand other than directly understanding the subject matter. It was vital to him that readers went out of their way to comprehend him and his work in their complexity as such, which was what separated them from the rest; case in point; your dear classmate over there." Dante shifted his gaze to the one person determined to hold it. "Being loyal and passionate about literature doesn't necessarily mean you knowing every piece off by heart, but rather being thoughtful for the reasons it was written. I can't begin to tell you how many times I've come across writers who write the most creative, draw-you-in anthologies, and upon meeting them they're just empty shells and the complete opposite of how they portrayed themselves on black and white." He jumped to the floor and regained his posture in front of the projector, shifting his glasses back into their rightful place. "I may be biased in saying this, but Vergil is one of my favourite because he makes me think: the easier a work is to see through, the quicker the efficacy fades overtime. The more confused you are the better. I also have to say that owing to him having my balls on a stick if I don't." His eyes rolled into his skull, earning a chuckle from his spectators.

In the blink of an eye the lecture concluded on a high note; Dante had managed to convert the entire room into Vergil's ultimate – albeit baffled – fan group and they could all enjoy their weekend with a fresh poem in their mind destined to ruin them for the next couple of weeks straight. The front row of girls was open in displaying their displeasure at the lesson coming to an end, and Dante was being professional in not welcoming their advances. Instead, he chose to focus on Nero. Why, only he knew. His head flashed up and caught his victim still in his seat, writing notes frantically in his notebook covered in small bunnies; he was patient until he finished, and watched him gather his things slowly, clearly waiting for the room empty out before needing to move to the man in the front of the class. "Nero, could I talk to you for a second?"

He was already en-route, but the class emptied faster, assuming he was in trouble. "Now that I think of it, you didn't use any of the stuff you brought with you-"

"It's just to look professional." Dante lifted the duffel onto the table. "And you seem to be taking too much notice of this general area." He swished his hands in the general area that was him, a tentative smirk showing off his incredible, kissable, plump lips.

Nero couldn't help but mirror him, his mouth seemingly on autopilot at the outlandishness that was his morning. "I'm not going to entertain the theory of you being my weakness."

"So, of all the things I could have called you down for, that's what popped into your head first?" Nero was embarrassed and blushing. It was adorable. "Actually, I wanted to know your plans for the rest of the day. I know you don't have any classes after this, so I was wondering if I could steal you for a couple of hours before you catch the bus home." He put his hands up in front of him in mock surrender. "And before you think I'm some kind of stalker, Kent told me. He has some high hopes for you, but won't stop talking about his concerns of your life outside of our studies."

There was no reason not to trust him. Other than him being a complete stranger much smarter than him, he couldn't ignore that his body didn't trigger the normal alarm when meeting a new face. He didn't shrivel into a corner pondering on things to say nor did he feel uncomfortable by his presence; he felt nice being close to Dante, like seeing a friend after a really long time, only the friend was someone you have never met yet connected to on an intellectual level. He mentally shifted at the poke to his deteriorating home life and focused on Dante's first request. "What were you thinking of doing?"

Dante adjusted the straps on his laptop bag, noticing his shirt and began to roll down the sleeves and button the cuffs. "Taking you to my home. No point in trying to… lie… to you… could you help, please?" He was struggling with the size of the buttons, clearly too small for his big, delicate hands to manoeuvre into the even smaller holes. "There's something there that might interest you."

"Oh really?" The student set down his notepad, faintly amused at the man being set back by a task as menial – he moved an inch closer, taken aback by the heatwave that came out of nowhere, but fixated in not making a fool out of himself for not being able to do it either. Nero purposely touched at the skin of his wrist, and yes, it was as soft as he'd imagined it. "Could I get a clue to what it is?"

"Whatever I say would ruin it, knowing that brain of yours." With his sleeves buttoned and looking presentable once more, they walked up the wide staircase side by side, gradually slowing their pace for the sake of their conversation. "So is that a yes? I can promise you it has nothing to do with me… but does… but also doesn't."

They reached the door and he stood back for Nero to pass him, gesturing with an extended hand. "You are just as confusing as Vergil."

Dante hid a smile away from Nero as they left the class together. "If I had a dollar every time someone said that…"


	2. Friday afternoon

Nero kept his comments to himself as they parked and took a stroll to the front door of Dante's apartment block; he stared at the sleek glass and metal building reaching through the sound barrier, the well-tendered gardens on the balconies on each floor, and the cleanliness and tidiness of it all taking his breath away and making him choke at the same time - it was too neat and too classic, looking like it housed one too many snooty teen-adults whose parents probably had a share in the building's prosperity. It didn't suit Dante, and that fact worried him about the real reason he had trekked halfway across town at one in the afternoon with a total stranger.

He adjusted the non-existent weight over his shoulder and took a pretentious breath as a big, strong hand found its way to the strap of his backpack: there was a gentle squeeze that relieved the tension inside of him, followed by a soft trail down to the small of his back where he was nudged forward. "Don't judge the place from the outside; it's a complete mess." From the outside they looked like a confused tourist couple just taking in the sights of a brand new town, basking in the glory of an out-of-reach story book being told before their very eyes. Nero intrinsically shifted closer to his frame, now even more aware of how muscular he was compared to the people passing them by the street; he wouldn't admit that he was paying attention to it, but it nagged at the back of his brain how much he towered over them in every aspect.

"That's what I'm looking forward to." His skin twitched at the contact. The cheek, but denying that it felt good? That contradicted his purely logical brain. "So which one's yours, big boy?"

His hands didn't move from Nero, but the other moved to scratch at his jaw; the light shadow of facial hair could only be seen standing this close to him, and though the rest of his body was screaming at him to take a few steps back, the comfort and warmth radiating from Dante was too good a choice over anything the normal atmosphere had to offer. The action was so fetching, he was caught off by the answer to the question he forgot he had asked. "The double-story penthouse at the top."

Their shared look fell quickly into the furthest level of Hell. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"It'll all makes sense when you meet him, okay?" They walked in tandem to the glass doors where Dante was a complete gentleman, mimicking his actions from when they left the auditorium. "He keeps on saying he isn't one for big spaces, but when you see how much shit he has-"

"Him? Who's him?"

The temperature dropped heavily as he closed the door; the air-conditioner hummed a welcomed tune as the coolness spread all over his body and Dante was at his side showing the way. "Come on - don't make me say it."

The elevator doors closed slowly and the 8-bit music bounced off the mirrored walls just enough to not completely drive either of them insane. Nero rested his head on the opposite end, drifting his eyes to the ceiling and tilting his head, concentrating on the bright lights' effect on the man standing next to him - Dante stood in his allocated corner, calm, solemn, and in his element of doing absolutely nothing to instil the growing sexual frustration that his student managed to hide the entire way there; the shadow of his glossy hair did wonders on his cheekbones and fuck-me-now jawline, making him look godly and ethereal. His sleek, biteable neck was on full display, and Nero pondered on the ridiculous amount of teeth marks he had to nurse away for the sake of his department of work. He could see his own set nuzzled into the crook of his neck, almost ripping at the creamy, supple, muscled skin whilst Dante ravaged him from the inside out. "What?"

The word took him back a few seconds when Dante matched his glare. "What?"

From facing the doors, he twisted his entire body to face Nero's direction, seductively leaning onto his side. Out of the classroom he seemed so normal, dropping the know-it-all façade and reverting back to a human being with real feelings and urges and a great sense of humour. The man's undeniable presence and aura concerning his love and lust for literature was beyond admirable and commendable; how much of an influence in the world he had as a whole would be a mystery until he could dig it out of him should that opportunity ever arise. He would be cautious, no doubt, but Dante gave him no reason to run or hide in being brutally honest from the get-go. In their lesson, he was patient and open, listening to everyone in turn and giving them all a class to remember for weeks to come. As they stood watching each other waiting for his floor, they each saw the other side of themselves; the parts that contained no works of literature and utterly stripped to the bone, and being this vulnerable while sharing a tiny space with someone of equal verve was a new, highly recommended experience for him. "You're looking at me like you want to have awkward elevator foreplay before getting to my apartment." They kept one another's gaze, neither giving anything away. "Either that or you just wanna take a bite out of me."

The smaller man just looked at him, watching how he moved and spoke with such ease and a pang of jealousy rose to the back of his throat. For someone who prided himself on being alone, he was unashamedly enjoying the simplicity of Dante's company. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm not the one you should be harbouring dirty thoughts about, unless you really want to, in which case the next few minutes are really going to break my heart." Before Nero could question his sudden knack at mind-reading, the elevator doors opened to floor thirty six, where upon exiting, Nero realised was an incredibly isolated floor: a solitary corridor lead to door to the left of the elevator, and nothing else apart from an oval tea table and a rough sketch of two swords stood next to it. His apartment was twice the size of each room – which Nero assumed to be gigantic already – and the extra floor above it made it equal to four of them in one.

"You look spooked." Dante caught up with him staring at the plain white door; no peephole, no number, no handle; just a small silver slot glowing in red next to the table which he guessed was the key to the place. The owner dug out a metal card that fit in the slot perfectly and the door clicked open in time with the red to change to a neon green, signalling successful entry into the room. "I promise there's nothing scary in there." Nero had to take his word for it. Dante pushed the door open and stood aside, his breath hot on his ear. "After you."

And what he saw was miles away from what his imagination conjured Dante to live in: covered in white, grey, and black, the open plan apartment was every bachelor's dream; the dark, rich lounge suite, soft fur carpet and fireplace looked undeniably comfortable from where he stood; the fully-furnished kitchen was humbly equipped with every appliance known to man, including a fully-stocked wine rack; the proper sitting room nestled at his right, complete with equally cashmere couches and housing a TV unit with the biggest flat screen Nero had ever seen and several gaming consoles in the slots directly underneath it; the two left corners of the room housed a hammock and a pair of La-Z-Boys for those days when the only thing on your mind was 'nah'. Behind that was a glass patio door leading to the small garden area he had seen from outside. There were two closed doors on either side of the room, and he was forced to tap into his normal functioning brain to try and figure out what they could have hidden. What piqued his interest more were the three doors on the upper floor that passed a small staircase in the centre of the room, even more so that one of them was ajar.

"You home?" Dante called from behind him at the top of his voice, taking his backpack from him and setting it down "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

A scuffle of feet, falling objects, and a pained exclamation came from the open door. "I'm busy." It was the echo of Dante's voice; impeccably identical, but the accent wavered on the distinguished side of the stick.

"With what? You need to start dinner or your lasagne won't rest properly." He elbowed the poor boy in his ribs.

"You're right." A deep breath, cracking of bones, and the moving of a desk chair could be heard from above. "Shit."

Nero held his arms close to his body, preparing for another one of Dante's elbows. "You don't have to force him down here, you know?"

The lecturer gave him his trademark sass look, tilting his head and laying his hands on his hips. "I don't but I like to. Besides, I'm calling him down here for you, so if he comes down and tramples what's left of the Coliseum it's your fault."

The door swung open and the figure exited with his back to them, walking slowly with a wad of paper in his hands and a pencil behind his right ear; shoving the paper under his arm, he carefully took the steps one by one in profound thought before reaching the bottom and resuming his reading, or whatever he was doing. As he walked, the pencil flew from his ear to his hand and vice versa as fresh, untainted thoughts were scribbled across the pad, hoping to be used or discarded in the near future. Nero took a step back at the uncanny resemblance he had to Dante, only everything he wore was the direct opposite in colour: with his sleeves rolled up at the elbows he stood in all white, wearing the same glasses as Dante and exposing a little bit more skin by the help of two opened buttons at the top; the difference here lied in the expensive Rolex that sat snuggly on his wrist, a pair of fluffy pink slippers to keep his feet warm and toasty, and his expertly styled hair slicked back and held together by who knows what. He dropped the paper from view as he saw Dante in the corner of his eye and came face to face with the strangest sight – he made a friend; a friend that seemed to be as confused as he was, and decidedly took the situation as it unfolded by his brother.

Speaking of his brother, he grabbed at the pencil and paper and held it at a safe distance so both of their utmost attention was invested in the next couple of minutes. "Now, introduce yourselves."

Both the newcomer and Nero gave him a look of uncertainty, but the man in white seemed more at home in his confusion. This wasn't the first time. "You first."

Dante looked at Nero and nudged his head in the direction of the figure in white, edging him to take the first step; an act that he wasn't keen on learning but he'd suck it up for the sake of the effort Dante put in for the two of them to meet. "Hi, I'm Nero."

It finally dawned on him. "Oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" He looked at his brother, then Nero. "Nice to meet you, Nero. I'm Vergil."

And Dante, being him, came out of nowhere. "BOOOOOM! Mind blown," making the sound effects with his mouth and hands, wiggling his fingers to resemble fireworks next to his head.

The ache in his side from the earlier blow to his ribs grew as his heartbeat travelled one million miles per second, contemplating the possibility that the man in front of him really could be his hero since he was twelve; he had side swept the media ever since his very first bestseller hit the shelves and many companies were open about their disapproval in the infamous writer keeping every living thing about him a secret, including his looks and private life. Very few people possessed knowledge of him, and even then would they rather be killed than give up any information about him or his whereabouts at any given time, so it made Nero sceptical in believing that he would so easily give himself away to someone he barely knew, given that his general company consisted of friends of the family that cascaded from generation to generation. The whole package in front of him shrieked Vergil to the max, but the twin standing to Nero's right was the deciding factor. The possibility was still there, and that made him sick to his stomach.

The visitor steadied himself at becoming light-headed at the information overload. "No… no you're not-"

"Why not?"

The natural sunlight coming through the huge panes of glass made him look like a fuzzy, comfortable, sublime angel. "You could just be his twin named Vergil."

"But I am his twin named Vergil." The angel crossed his arms over his chest, showing off the same arms he had taking a liking to a mere two hours ago; he was openly mocking the visitor and his intellectual prowess, pouting as if the person standing in front of him wasn't the same student his friend Kent spoke so highly of. But he was: he could feel it; he could sense it with every fibre of his being that the creature in front of him was the real deal. "Such a pity your logic has to fail you at such a critical time, Nero."

He knew he was being provoked; he wanted reassurance that Dante hadn't just picked up some random kid off the street claiming to be a fan of his brother's work. It was so farfetched for Nero to think Dante would do such a thing, but given his current surroundings there was absolutely no harm in taking the bait – it was about time he greased his acting skills. Pretending to be wounded by Vergil's futile attempt at belittling him, he raised an eyebrow and crushed his teeth. "You must be out of your mind-"

"How about this," Dante interjected as the sparks flaring between the two would result in much more than them walking off with a few burns; he was completely unaware of their blatant bickering and sought out the most civil way they could walk away with as little scratches as possible. "The one thing known across the world is that he has an amazing memory: test him on anything; whether it's from a book or his poems, ask him something only he would be able to answer. That way we can go back to your mind being blown and rendering you speechless for the rest of the visit."

Things just became interesting. For sole purpose of being the true fanboy he was, Nero chose his favourite, and by his opinion the best and most twisted scene in the history of Vergil's branch of literature; not only was this a scene most readers chose to forget, but in doing so making it more ingrained in their memory and it seemingly becoming more horrible after every recall. " _The Absence of Light_ , 2005 first edition: the dying scene at the end of chapter thirty five – recite it to me." Many of his hardcore fans could narrate it without a hitch; he needed something more, something that surpassed the boundaries of mere memorisation. "If you can say it to me and evoke in me the same emotions you experienced when you wrote that scene, I'll believe you."

He was good. He carefully crafted his words to sound so convincing, it was such a pity that Vergil had to bring him back to earth and beat him singlehandedly at his own game. Reaching for his glasses on his head, he folded them and handed them to his brother. Dante took them wearily and moved a few steps back, looking at Nero like he had nailed himself into the worst corner to ever exist. "In the first edition the death scene occurs at the end of chapter thirty four. It was in the second edition that I added a chapter as a prologue for book two, resulting in every chapter after fourteen bumping up by one number." Vergil's attempt at intimidation worked little on Nero: he had twenty three years to build up the nerves of steel he was renowned for, a self-proclaimed potty mouth of the faculty if there ever was one. There wasn't much that could get under his skin could he resist the dreadful urge for a comeback so vile it reached the remaining faculties on campus and had the Religious Study students praying for the well-being of his soul. He was indeed the last person you chose to mess with.

"Well done – and you're procrastinating."

The man in white flashed a wicked smile – Nero was either going to have his ass handed to him in proving that this was his ultimate literary hero or Dante would be exposed for the phony try at pulling the rug from under his feet. Again, Dante wouldn't do that; and here was a prime example of what three hours of logic did to the human brain, thinking you knew but you didn't, making decisions for someone else based on the most satisfactory personal outcome. "English or Latin?"

It could be a trap; although he knew the passage only in English, his brain chose it as the viable option. His heart, however, would be able to pick on the emotions Vergil decidedly brought out of the passage, so essentially the language didn't matter. "Latin."

The angel stepped directly into Nero's line of vision, superimposing any of the control he thought he had over the situation and tore it to shreds to lay at his pink, fuzzy feet. Vergil created an invisible bubble where it was just the two of them; hopelessness, seclusion, delving them into his character's world of dejection and sadness at its purest form – he ran his left hand down Nero's right arm until his elbow, lifting his forearm and spreading his palm, tracing tiny concentric circles over the soft flesh.

"' _Est, sine timore, quod ego te per mea parte, ad extremum spiritum; non mens, qui pono animam meam pro te in spe, audire te dicere, te me amare unum ultimum tempus; cum timore ut dormiat moriendo pro causa, non attendens manu mea incipere._ '"

Vergil spread his palm over Nero's, gently lacing their fingers and feeling the light pulse of his heartbeat over his own, working his own magic in syncing them together. The student immediately realised the feat and shifted his gaze toward their intertwined hands, feeling the melancholy radiating from the small area where their bodies touched; with his other hand, a single finger steered his face into gazing into his intensely serene icy blue eyes, where once locked he made quick work with holding him in place. The skin at the back of his head tingled as Vergil slowly caressed through the fine hairs, grasping a pressure point of arousal a few inches above the base of his neck.

" _Quid vidit erat alius faciem, prensantem contra, non verbis, venit, et ipse descendit, sine vita in tenebris abyssi eius mors immatura. Ipsa clamavit post eum, sed non cum lacrimis, trahi a miseria, et effusus in obscurior foramen, sed orans ut eum in scientia sua fata fatis in peius dies quam hodie_."

Nero closed his eyes at the same moment Vergil did; the potency of his words mixed with the added sensation of his being – whole, living, thriving – made the scene harder to digest, and the grip on his head fulfilled the purpose of bringing him back to his reality of luxury and happiness, pain and pleasure, that was lost by the protagonist who spoke his final words to a hallucination projected by the light at the end of his respective tunnel. "Now you: say it in English so I know you're the one I've been hearing so much about."

Nero was at a loss for words for the overhaul on his sensory instincts. He swallowed deep, suddenly nervous at the fact that he being Vergil became truer the longer they stood in the bubble. Luckily for him he knew the piece better than the back of his hand, which he realised, was now pressed against Vergil's muscled, toned chest. "'It is without fear that I have you by my side as I take my last breath; it is without regret that I lay my life for you in the hope to hear you say you love me one last time; it is with fear as I lay dying for a cause not heeding my hand to begin with.' What he saw was another face, clutching another hand as no words came, and he sunk lifelessly into the dark abyss for his untimely death. She cried after him, but not with tears, wrenched out of wretchedness and plunged into a darker hole, yet still praying to see his face in knowing his fate was destined for worse days than today."

At Vergil's hands, their individual worlds collided into a beautiful spectrum of colour brought forth by their innate ability to connect with the deepest part of themselves and plough through complex emotions to make sense of and endure the rollercoaster of side effects to bring the characters to life; it altered from a chore to an obligation as his writing progressed, establishing persons of a disturbed utopia that fell into the rhythm of the veiled sadness from which they were protected. The author transported Nero to a steady plane of feeling that broke into flaming sparks the millisecond his tender hands fell on his damaged, fragile state, unknowing to what he had in store for the student.

It was him. Without a doubt.

Vergil didn't dare break what they had created, leaning forward and whispering on the sweet spot at the corner of his mouth. "You must really love my stuff; that was word for word." The words glimmered across the surface of his lips and sat heavy on his ribcage, knowing full well that Vergil understood the toll it took for anyone to relate to anything he published.

Nero opened his eyes and it hit him full scale. "Was that so difficult?" Freezing cold washed over him as he saw Dante standing on the other side of the room with the cutest smile, mouthing the words _MIND BLOWN_ , pacing backward out of the incomprehensible dip he underwent moments ago. Vergil playfully reeled him back in, and Nero forgot that his body refused to let go of his favourite thing on the planet; in that moment, he accepted his fate at the hand of the twin he had sorely wronged, wanting nothing more than to retreat into his favourite corner of his house a hundred miles away.

Vergil pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him carefully to not spook him any further. "I think I broke him, Dante."

It didn't help the apparent ticking time bomb in his chest; not knowing what else to do, Nero clung to the snug white material, looking over Vergil's shoulder to see a frantic Dante trying to get his attention and mouthing _I THINK HE LIKES YOU_ with two thumbs up.

What a relief.


	3. Friday evening

After what Nero termed a scuffle of psychological warfare, Vergil retreated to his floor to change into something more comfortable, keeping his evil eyes on Nero the duration of his climb. Out of ear and eyeshot, the student cut across the space between himself and Dante. "Why did you do that?"

"What? Introduce you to Vergil?" He sat down contentedly, leaning his elbows on his thighs and signalling for Nero to take a seat.

He inherently obeyed; he was now equally terrified of Dante. "Yes; why did you do that?" He watched as strands of fine silver curtained his eyes from view, his underlying good looks playing Nero like the instrument he was. "Where did all of that come from?"

"Does it bother you?"

"Not as much as it should."

Dante did that thing again, raking his slender creamy fingers through his hair for a better taste of him as a whole. "That's how he is – touchy, feely, all the good stuff." He leaned back and draped his arm over the back of the couch, perfectly illustrating the reason Nero defied rationality to cross town and follow him into what he supposed heaven to be like. "I feel like I need to remind you that you asked for it. He gave you what you asked for, Nero. What a nice guy, right?" They sat in a silence for a few seconds, the man in black grasping that the younger took his words as the plain truth. "I hope you know I'm kidding."

"About which part?"

"Please tell me you're joking; Vergil is extremely awkward – social anxiety, chronic depression, deprived of human contact holding himself up in this place. He's scared of the outside because of the warmth ignorance and absurdity brings to him – he thinks that staying in a bubble is the safest place for his mind to prosper; like a turtle choosing to starve inside his shell rather than poking his head out to chew at some grass, ya know?" Nero furrowed his eyebrows at what he was saying, not seeing a hint of it the last twelve years. "Again, I hope you know I'm kidding."

"Oh dear god, DANTE-"

"He's a human being, Nero. Treat him accordingly. That's all he wants." Dante scratched a non-existent itch at the back of his hand, his tone turning unexpectedly serious. "That's all we all want, isn't it?"

That was the answer to everything. Was it acceptance, was it being liked and appreciated for whatever your contribution you made to the bettering of society that measured your self-worth to the rest of the spectators who watched with a keen eye, anticipating your failure? Was it the poorly portrayed heroes of our childhood with their dark sides hidden and strengths on display, only for them to later succumb to the shadier parts of them they kept aside, splayed for everyone to see after their initial fall from grace and ruining what was the start of the happiest memories of their lives to begin with? Or was it the pressures placed on us as individuals to become the best versions of ourselves so we could down the line become the same fodder to the soil as those who never got close yet lived the life they chose to live, living their last moments with face-splitting smiles on their faces and little to no regrets? So many questions but too few answers erupting out of Nero's psyche from seven words; he was akin to overthink the tiniest of detail, which he attributed to his overactive consciousness. "I just want to know why he did that."

"Why?" The query that always went unanswered for the sake of image preservation; Dante caught the primary meaning of is request, his face twisting to raw intrigue. "Oh, did he make you feel all tingly in your man parts?"

"Don't say it like that." Nero sat up straight and blushed at how casual he approached it, envious all the same but trying to keep integrity in the interaction.

"What? You have too much respect for him and his craft that you can't see him turning you on like a light switch?" The few strands of hair that fell forward were blown out of his face as he sent a sneer to Nero. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with that: he's been holding your hand for a long time. You find solace in his works and comfort in knowing you're not the only one going through the evils of the world; hell, you only realise how bad it really is until he makes you stare it in the face and tells you it's gonna be okay. It's a perfectly normal reaction, don't worry. He took advantage of his mystery and the overall hold he – as a concept – held over your head and exploited it." He shrugged at the simple genius of it. "The two of you are so similar that I wouldn't be too concerned if he was pacing his floor right now just as freaked as you are. To put this plainly, you are the first fan he has ever met and you are the only one outside of our circle to have seen him. Obviously other people have seen this face, but they don't know he and I share it."

Nero was infuriated that none of what Dante was saying made sense. "He's moody, that's as simple as I can put it. But only for the deadlines." Dante checked the door to the room he entered and there was a wide enough gap for him to be heard – he raised his voice in volume, itching to hear the reply that he certainly would get. "BEING HIS EDITOR ISN'T THE BEST JOB, BUT IT PAYS THE BILLS."

The younger brother pointed a finger to the door at the exact moment Vergil chose to respond. "YOU LIVE HERE FOR FREE!"

"See? Moody." He shook his head in good spirits and Nero started laughing. "Emotions are a foreign entity to him: he can write about them with ease, but when it comes to feeling them he can replicate what is meant to happen under due stress, but you can never be too sure if he's really feeling it or not."

The smaller came down from his unanticipated high; it felt too good to laugh after the last few hours. "So, in a word-"

"He's numb. He will feel things when he deems it fit to feel something and not waste what little bit of emotion he has left."

Neither of them caught the blur of grey sweatpants and black long-sleeved sweater nor the rhythmic slide of pink footsteps coming toward them. "Numb. I quite like that." Vergil took a seat on the lone single couch practically designed for him, and Nero threw him a face of disbelief; the tiny gesture easing the tension that was there before. "You underestimate how much I respect my brother's opinion of me."

Dante nodded. "He's an egotistical ass-hat who thinks the world revolves around the pretty pictures he paints in teenager's heads when all he's doing is mentally scarring them and setting them up for the best sex life they will ever have."

Vergil agreed. "Whereas Dante is a Pillsbury Doughboy of optimism in thinking the world is the best place to be at all times, choosing to drown out the prevalent threats of our everyday lives with video games that reflect the prevalent threats of our everyday lives."

Dante nodded again. "If we weren't brothers-"

"The possibilities are endless, I know." They both stood and subsequently high-fived one another and Vergil retreated to the kitchen to start the task he originally came down for: dinner – vegetarian and normal. He skilfully removed all of the ingredients from the fridge and freezer and got to work on the tasks that took more cooking time – he cut the butternut in half and wrapped them separately in foil, shoving them into the oven to soften; on the stove he layered two pots in olive oil, setting one to one side and focusing his attention on the vegetables for his sauce.

"Remind me to read that book someday."

Vergil was hunched over the kitchen counter dicing tomatoes and onions. "It's the one you don't want to go near."

"You have tears in your eyes every time you read it, and you're dead from the neck down. How do you think I'd take it?"

Nero heeded no courtesy to the banter between the brothers and focused solely on Vergil; the powerhouse of an author was dancing around his big kitchen, chopping vegetables for supper like a human being. How ordinarily peculiar, and so simultaneously fascinating: Vergil seemed to be of the multifaceted kind, the type you hardly expect to do anything but concentrate on their work and have them surprise you out of nowhere with – in this particular case – culinary skills. The student assumed him to lock himself in his study for fourteen hours a day, going mad with all the spiralling thoughts in that majestic head of his, but seeing the other side of the stick made him appreciate him a little bit more. To Nero, no one could or would ever surpass his literary dexterity, and this new dimension unravelling before him was so delicious to behold.

Vergil threw the diced tomatoes and onions into a pot to stew, adding water at regular intervals for the sauce to thicken at its own pace; grabbing spices individually, his practiced touch carefully added the right amounts to into the pot, giving it that extra zing that towered over other normal, ordinary lasagnes. Some of Nero's favourite moments were when his shirt accidentally rode up his back whilst reaching into the cupboards above his head, providing a flawless view of the toned skin underneath just above the waistband of his sweatpants-

"You so wanna bone him."

He was caught off guard by his brother's deep voice. "Dante, you have to stop this." The general tone of his face paired with the expression on his face could not contradict his words more. "If he hears you-"

"And gods forbid I do…" Vergil was opening some cupboards and facing the opposite way when he spoke. "I'm sorry, please carry on."

They were a nightmare.

* * *

"Are you staying for dinner, Nero?"

With most of the components for both dishes completed, Vergil retreated to his study to finish whatever he was working on when the pair came in. At regular intervals, he looked over the small balcony at the floor below, watching the pots bubble and thicken at a steady pace and occasionally asking his brother to give the contents a stir to prevent them from sticking to the bottom.

Nero and Dante were deep in conversation when the question came from nowhere; the elder brother walked down the staircase and two pairs of blue eyes followed him with all the grace of a new-born giraffe – Nero's eyes unashamedly thanked whatever deity had created loose, grey sweatpants. "I'm not too sure." He and Dante hadn't gone over the finer details of his visit, so once the objective was out of the way, it became clear that they had not thought the entire thing through. "I'd have to let my parents know, but there are no busses after the one that leaves at five-"

"Then stay the weekend." He turned both plates lower and checked the butternut in the oven before grabbing a block of cheese from the fridge and a grater from the sink. "If it's okay with Dante?"

The lounge went silent. Dante was too busy pulling an inappropriate face involving way too much tongue action and Nero, face bright red, was too busy hiding the fact that he was secretly enjoying it; the only sound that could be heard was the inaudible grating of cheese coming from the kitchen, Vergil completely unaware of the two grown men losing their mind over a simple statement. Claiming his composure, Dante threw a casual look to his brother, faking too much seriousness for the query floating in the air. "I see no problem with it. If it's okay with Nero?"

He swung his head to Dante, unsure of how to answer; not wanting to sound too keen or too happy that this turned into what he was hoping for all along. "Can I use your phone then?"

"Here, use mine." Vergil wiped his hands along a dry towel and reached into the pocket of his sweatpants, plucking out a slim line, state-of-the-art phone Nero would only ever see advertised on TVs for the people who could afford it. "Use the spare room for some privacy – I'll keep Dante at bay." He leaned forward to whisper in Nero's ear and bent too far, grazing his ear with his strategically positioned lips; the words were hot and tingly, shaking him down his spine and burning at his core. "He has this creepy tendency to be turned on by momma's boys."

Nero turned to face him and found that they were separated by less than an inch – his eyes were in line with his mouth and irrevocable jaw, watching as the smirk on his face grew in slow motion and feeling a small pop at the part of his brain in charge of self-control. "That's so far away from the truth, he's going to leave this conversation with what dignity he has left."

Nero's face jerked to Dante at the same time Vergil faced him. "I am?"

"You are."

"But I was having so much fuuuuu-" The elder twin began massaging his shoulders, digging into the muscles in his back as he slumped in his seat choosing not to ignore how amazing he was at it. Forgetting his mild phobia of being touched, Nero purposely straightened his back to give his new friend more room and leaned into his body, also forgetting Vergil's choice of bottom half attire.

Vergil suddenly stopped and fluffed Nero's hair, faking a cautionary look to the stove. "You have a phone call to make. I'm sorry." He sniggered as his pink slippers took him back to his menial task.

Dante stood and moved to a closer seat, smiling in knowing the first step was in place. "Just walk to the corner: the room doesn't have a door, so look out for a slip through the wall. I'm gonna go to the shops in a few, so I'll wait for you and grab some clothes and essentials for you. All good?"

* * *

Vergil concentrated all his energy on grating the rest of the cheese and not shredding his fingers against the metal grain; raising his head he saw his sibling walk ever so slowly toward the kitchen, swinging his legs one by one, making slow progress to his destination. The extra combination of narrowed eyes and a flawlessly sculpted eyebrow did the scene justice. "You have two extra days. You can thank me later."

The buzzer sounded on the oven. "I made the suggestion-" He resurfaced after taking the roasting vegetable and setting it aside to cool down and pulling the sourest face at his brother, tongue digging in his cheek from the wittiest retort that came to his mind. "For what, exactly?"

"You know what, Vergil."

He paused for a while, thinking his talkative brother would chew his head on the subject matter, but he thought better than being patient with the man. Fetching flour, butter, milk, and heavy cream, he measured them before adding them to the pot carefully and whisking to his desired consistency; Dante prodded at the butternut, highly underestimating the amount of heat the foil wrapped around it kept hidden from view. "When will you stop assuming everyone wants to get into my pants, Dante?"

The younger stuck the tips of his fingers in his mouth trying to absorb the burn, allowing one of them to hang from the corner of his mouth. "This isn't just someone, brother-"

"Enlighten me then."

Dante leaned onto the counter close to where Vergil was working, taking full reign over the conversation he wished were an inner monologue in his brother's head. "Do you not see the way he looks at you? Do you not see his jaw laying on the floor every time you so much as move an inch? Do you not see how terribly careful he's being in not wanting to do anything wrong?"

"But that's just him, Dante; he's a straight A student and one of Kent's favourites – do you really think anyone in that category has a knack for causing trouble in other people's houses?" He tried not to look into his eyes, busying himself with the pots on the stove.

His brother saw through him. "That's not what I mean, you brilliant idiot." Dante rubbed at the side of his face, splaying himself across the kitchen counter to stretch out his annoyance. "Geez, your brain infuriates me when you refuse to acknowledge things in plain sight – how more obvious do I need to get? He's putty in your hands-"

"He's a frightened master's student who got kidnapped by a substitute lecturer-"

"He's a fucking brilliant individual who adores you to the ends of this earth. Why can you not see that? He may be a bit fucked in the head, but all the best ones are." He felt at the bulbous vegetable again, taking a chunk out of it and popping it into his mouth; he had a point. "And just so you know, your pants as it stands would not be difficult to get into." He had another point.

Vergil looked down and smiled, friskily pulling at the drawstrings and retying them looser than before. "Duly noted."

They were both playing a dangerous game, equally unaware of what the other had up his sleeve, and little did they know they were aiming for the same goal. For Vergil, it was genuine fascination at the kindred spirit in the other room, and spending time with him meant less he'd spend alone in the dark, mulling over his newest life choices for his next literary masterpiece. For Dante, he was just blatantly interested at what would arise from his brother meeting someone that wasn't a reflection in the mirror or a new split personality; he craved for his brother to bask in the much needed attention he deserved, and it was interesting to watch how his reactions played out, varying from one end of the shit stick to the other. Having two souls so much alike under the same roof either spelled out disaster or outright fun and games, and both were too sheltered for the former to be true. Nevertheless, after today he'd take a step back and let nature run its due course and wait for the inevitable to decide their fate.

"I'm gonna head on down to the shops for some extras; you need anything specific?" Dante teetered on the balls and heels of his feet, acting innocent and setting up a joke for his next line of dialogue. "Candles? Perfumed oils? Edible underwear?"

Unknown to him, Vergil was well-stocked. "I'm sure your book on Karma Sutra you left by the Jacuzzi will work just fine, thanks."

The delectable smile that erupted on Dante's face was as devilish as it was sexy, running his tongue over his perfect set of teeth. "Touché; now if you'll excuse me, I need to get his sizes for-"

"Medium shirt, or maybe a size thirty six for his shoulders; thirty eight for the pants; shoe size nine." He pulled the foil off the butternut as he turned the stove on for his makeshift filling. "Get him an extra jersey, maybe two." Vergil took a spoon and shred the vegetable into the sauce. "Extra socks, underwear, and a toothbrush. Two bottles of cranberry juice, fresh cranberries and lemonade for me please." Using a wooden spoon, he folded the creamy goodness in, one step closer to the finished product. He removed the spoon and pointed it accusingly at his brother, failing at being stern to someone who openly accepted it into his mouth. "And just so you know, I do see those things. I see everything, but in being the total gentleman that I am, I won't disclose it in a manner that would make him more awkward than he already is. This is not some everyday occurrence for him, and you have to remain calm when it comes to his type of persona; this is not his element, this is an unknown surrounding with no clear way out. Please be mindful of that next time." Vergil moved the spoon in his brother's mouth, making him lick the rest of the contents and giving it a good rinse before plopping it back into the pot. "I will do my utmost to make him feel welcome and accommodated; you should do the same."

Dante's keen eyes followed his every move, using his thumb to wipe at the filling that didn't make their way to his mouth. "He already knows all I'm good for is to pluck his strings. He's smart enough to know not to take what I say to heart."

"Stop teasing him. It's not fair; he's got nothing on you. He doesn't know you well enough to guess when you're making a joke – he's in your domain; he'll hang on your every word."

He licked at his fingers, taking his time at sucking them to not miss any spots. "Ask me to stop because it hurts him, not because you hate that you like it." The sneaky smile was back. The cheeky bastard was too smart for his own good. Barely missing a wet towel being thrown to his head, he took his keys from the bowl next to the front door and headed to the spare bedroom with an extra spring in his step. "You can't hide things from me, Verge." Dante disappeared behind the first of two parallel walls that shaped the only form of privacy.

Vergil moved the two deep dish pans to the main counter with the boxes of normal and flavoured pasta sheets.

 _Yes, please. Thank you. Go away._

Nero clutched the phone to his chest, deep in contemplation for his task ahead. Should he not call and just insist they want him home? Try and convince the twins to take him back to campus simply because he couldn't take rejection for what could be the best weekend of his life? Or maybe just not say a word and wait for it to blow over? The 'I'm-fine-but-I-won't-say-anything-and-don't-ask' tactic. All he could do was stare at the phone screen, frozen for no reason – he was old enough to look after himself and the call would be one of courtesy anyway-

"I hope you're not overthinking anything."

 _Please let it be Dante. Please let it be Dante._

He turned to see his preferred brother standing at the foot of the bed. "I guess you didn't make the call yet."

"I was about to just about to dial-"

"If you don't want to stay-"

"That's not it…" Nero carefully placed the phone next to him on the bed as he sat heavily on it. His hair fell into his face as he laid his head in his hands, looking up solemnly at Dante. "Three days to pick his brain; three days to become immersed in everything he does on a daily basis; three whole days getting to know him better than anyone ever before; do you know what…" He took a deep breath. "I'm wording it like a freaked maniac, I know, but…" Another breath. "It's him. Right there. And I'm acting like some stupid lost puppy in front of the man I've idolised for over a decade because…" He swallowed hard and pointed to his throat. "Stage fright."

Dante folded his arms across his chest giggly beyond belief. "Oh, so this is just you regretting the first hour of meeting him?"

Nero stood and rubbed his hands together before embedding them in his scalp. "Nothing I have done up to this point has made any sense for..." He looked to the twin for words. "Every bone in my body wants so bad to just…" They never came. "So in a nutshell, yeah! What you said!"

Dante walked over to him and stopped him plucking the rest of what hair he had left and held his hands tightly, grazing his thumb on Nero's goose bumps. "What you're doing right now is highly illogical."

"And how is that?"

Dante's hands were big enough to wrap around Nero's and squeeze the dreading doubt boiling in his belly; he held onto them, giving him eyes saying he wasn't planning to let go until he calmed down. It also brought the right amount of pain for him to completely snap out of the trip he was taking. "You're in here and he's over there." Unfortunately for them, it made sense. Nero was starting to think he was holding back on his brain capacity these past few hours. "Nero…" he began softly, bringing some colour back into his pale face, "not everything in this world is logical; not everything follows a pattern or a train of thought; not everything makes sense. Allow your instincts as a human being to take over; you're still young – enjoy your bad decisions as much as you can."

"I try not to make those-"

"And thus you can't admit that you liked getting attention from the one man you think understands you more than you understand yourself owing to you thinking it would dampen the way he sees you? He couldn't care less of how he looks in your eyes; he stays true to himself and the person that he is. Why are you so afraid to be yourself in front of him?" He relieved some of the pressure, but Nero needed all the encouragement he could get. "I'm not one to speak, but you're truly incredible – don't ask questions, I'm just amazingly perceptive. There's no way he won't love you."

He gripped his shoulders and their faces met, Nero copying the nodding motion Dante made for confirmation; why he so easily trusted the man would be a conundrum for another day, but being the closest thing to Vergil's side certainly added that small something extra that may get him through this weekend. With an unexpected hard slap to the back, he turned Nero on his heels and pushed him gently to where the phone laid on the bed. "Now pick up that damn phone and let go for three days; you were so good in class today."

He picked up the piece of technology and typed the number. "Because I was familiar with the subject matter – there are varied opinions in cases like those, but this isn't like that."

"Yeah, it's better because it's unpredictable. You have a say in what happens here; all I'm saying is don't let that big brain of yours ruin chances for your heart to break free, okay?" No talk out of emotional turmoil would be complete without his trademark sass to top it off. "I'm a really smart man, Nero. You can trust me; I know what I'm talking about," added with pushing his shoulder-length faultless hair behind his ear put the cheery on top of the awkwardly slanting cake.

Nero stared at the bright LED displaying his home number, thinking about the equal part absurdity and rationality flowing out of Dante without a hitch. "I haven't yet perfected that skill."

"Will you at least try?" Though he could see the overall needlessness flowing through his body, Nero was still able to give him a small smile, hoping it was sufficient in convincing him. He was wrong. "Pinkie promise? Us grown ass men take pinkie promises very seriously." Dante stuck out his pinkie with an expertly practiced severe expression, watching Nero carefully as their pinkies met and they both laughed at the childishness of it all.

Vergil's head shot up at the laughter coming from the spare bedroom, trying not to think too much about what could possibly be going on. Why? Was he curious what his brother and Nero were talking about? Why did Dante go into his room for the sizes he had already provided? Why did it annoy him that they spoke so easily with one another? What could have possibly happened in the two hours Dante presented the lecture?

To all his own, he thought, stirring the simmering pots on the stove as they bubbled in the last few slivers of heat from the cooling plates. He double-checked the pre-heated oven and the rest of the components that were ready for assembly when the lowest stroke of genius hit him; he was in his own world when Dante finally left the apartment in good spirits, excited that the two of them were finally going to be alone.

Trying to keep his hands busy, Vergil turned on the coffee pot for a fresh batch, needing something to possibly lure Nero out of his hole if he chose to decline the offer he was going to make. He soon found himself antsy and too enthusiastic for his own liking, but a phone call shouldn't take this long? Vergil, who considered himself a fairly patient man, began fidgeting with packets and cleaning up the counter for the fifth time today, until he eventually gave in and went to the spare room, hearing Nero's faint voice as he spoke into his device. From where he stood, it sounded deep and raspy, determined yet respectful, willing to melt gold on a moment's whim. It was very different to the tone he used in their previous encounter, but that might all change with an opportunity for them to get to know each other. What he saw as the small, afraid mouse burying himself in a corner whenever he got the chance had taken a complete three sixty, showing his true colours when aiming for something he desperately wanted. Vergil mentally slapped himself for thinking him as another walk-over and should have given him the proper credit he deserved.

The twin snuck in as he finished his conversation and leaned at the piece of wall next to the double bed, his shirt riding up just enough for a lick of skin to be on full view for the visitor. "I hope its good news."

"It is." Nero's back was to him, too scared to see the look on Vergil's face should his knees turn to mush in the split second his brain took to register who he was really looking at. "I told them I met someone. They were more than happy to let me stay." It wasn't a lie.

Vergil bit on the inside of his cheek, cautious with his next few words. "I know I have to fill this silence with a long-winded apology about what happened earlier, but I don't want to." The suddenness of his comment made Nero face him. "I don't feel sorry for anything that happened between us. I really don't." Vergil moved forward and used fetching his phone as an excuse to get closer to him; pocketing the device he stayed rooted to the spot, holding Nero's cerulean gaze for as long as he'd allow. "I am a man of my word and you asked for it, so don't make me do it."

Nero's hands were still tingling from Dante's previous onslaught; he contracted the muscles in his hands for them to stop shaking. "I beg that you don't. I don't have another memory to replace it."

The overly observant twin saw him struggling to calm his hands and took it upon himself to assist, cradling the offending limb and massaging him between the fingers; the sensations were mesmerizing as he went to each gap individually and Nero could feel the stress seep from his fingers. "Was I that good?"

"From one lover of literature to another, please don't make me use words to describe it." Nero could feel the tension all the way in his shoulders fade under his skilled touch, hoping they could stay in that spot for the rest of his night and have Vergil blow his mind on many other facets he never expected.

Vergil watched his body relax, his breathing become more even and his heart beating to a standard rhythm; all that from a weird fascination he had with Nero's hands. "I've just made a fresh pot; I promise you can have half if you help me out in the kitchen." He had stopped shaking; laying his hand by his side, Vergil went for the kill and held his hand properly and gave it a gentle squeeze – he almost never trusted his instincts when it came to complete strangers, but he knew the man in front of him knew too much to even be considered one. Before it was different, an experimental dip in quenching his thirst for curiosity; now, he was greedy and drowning, not wanting a way out. "How about it?"

That undeniable pull was back – the earlier instance with Dante was just as strong, but this took Nero to an entirely different realm on its own. "I'm not too good in the kitchen, but I'll help anywhere I can."

Vergil would do anything to get that flaming confidence back. "It's nothing too hectic, don't worry." He started walking out of the room, pulling Nero behind him who followed obediently. "Nothing that beautiful brain of yours can't handle." They crossed the open plan to the kitchen, and Nero took a glimpse at what looked like a very neat, complicated mess. "You'll just be assembling the different layers into the dish, that's all."

He positioned the student in front of an empty deep black cooking dish already oiled and ready for ingredients. "The first layer is the pasta sheets; you want to line them up without any gaps at the bottom and cover up the holes on the side as much as possible. After that follows the meat filling and you want to make it as level as possible; not too thick or it will be too salty. The white sauce follows that, same as before, and what you want to do now is break those feta disks into quarters and sprinkle them inside the white sauce. Don't ask why, but Dante likes it that way because it isn't completely melted into it and you can still taste it separately. Repeat that until there's none left and then I'll come over for the last layer. Sound good?"

"Mmm-hmm-" Nero had already started his task. "I hope you don't mind-"

"Please… don't let me break your… whatever that's called." Sure, layering wasn't the most complicated thing to do, but to jump into something headfirst on your first try? How many more times was Vergil planning on being surprised in one day? By the time Vergil assembled his halfway, his mini prodigy had his pan brimming in creamy, cheesy, meaty goodness; judging from what he saw he'd done a better job than he saw himself doing. This boy was something else. "It looks like you're used to smashing things on your first go."

Nero picked the monstrosity that was their dinner and hit it flat on the surface of the counter, levelling out any gaps that he missed. "I had a great teacher."

Vergil passed him on his way to the fridge to grab the cheese, purposely knocking his shoulder; not too hard and not too soft, revelling in the split second contact their shoulders shared. "Kiss-ass." He split the grated mess in half. "Now sprinkle that over as evenly as you can, cover it in foil and shove it in the oven. Be careful, it's really hot."

Nero did as he was told; unlike Vergil, he didn't need to cut out a piece of the foil and simply tore it apart, making quick work of starting the cooking process in the oven. "Like this?"

Tongue in cheek, he rolled his eyes into another galaxy as a look of mock disgust twisted his dreamy features. "Showoff."

And now they played the waiting game; with both lasagnes cooking away, the two chefs grabbed barstools from under the counter and indulged in the sweet bitter delight of Vergil's home brew, the closest thing coming to the taste was liquid tar. All Nero wanted to do was listen to his hero talk endlessly about his life, his hobbies, his favourite books, his coming goals for the year, and all the jazz a true fanboy wanted to know. He wasn't slack with the details either, telling him all he wanted to know in the most entertaining way he knew – plainly. Nero appreciated how honest he was, stripping himself to the bone when it came to talking about his childhood and how little Dante had changed since the day he found out that Vergil was actually the older brother and he could cause all the shit he needed to for Vergil to happily take the blame.

They spoke of Nero's upbringing and his literary career that spanned most of his life: his favourite authors, books, philosophisers, and the like; they talked about his dislike of the other subjects he was forced to take for the sake of obtaining his masters, and it was with one inevitable question that he froze in his progress of opening up.

"What's the real reason you decided to do classical literature?"

Vergil wasn't the kind to bullshit. Nero had no intention to bullshit him, but hoped his honesty was enough for the time being.

"Could we maybe talk about that another time? It'll be really difficult to explain."

His head sank low, telling the man opposite him that prying won't do much good. "No pressure." Vergil took a sip of his coffee. "I hope that you'd trust me enough to tell me someday." He could see Nero tried to hide the unsettling feeling in his stomach in not being able to answer a question as simple as his motivations for making his ultimate passion his field of study. He gripped his mug in both hands and laid it in his lap, his eyes glued to the liquid to avoid further eye contact with Vergil. The twin wasn't having it: he shuffled his chair forward and delicately brought his hand under Nero's chin, lifting his gaze to experience Vergil in his caring, gracious form – never before would he feel such reverence and power in someone's eyes, sending much welcomed shivers down his spine and making the hairs at the back of his neck tingle by sheer force alone. "Don't shut down on me, okay? I wear size ten: one kick and the reboot might not be what you expect."

In one swift motion, his hands tucked away a stray hair behind his ear. "Thank you."

Vergil took a swig from a now empty cup. "Can I get you another one?"

Nero timidly looked into his mug and finished the last dregs of bitter energy, handing it over to Vergil who stood ready with the pot. Adding half a cube of sugar to the bottom, he filled it to the brim and walked to his right side, reaching across his back and giving him his cup while resting his chin on his right shoulder. "In all seriousness, I'm here if you need me," and Vergil waited until he shifted his gaze his way, presenting a loving, demure smile for Nero to enjoy. The younger man was taken aback by this small gesture as he felt something from deep within him crack right down the middle. "Also-" in the perfect position to do some mental scarring, he moved slowly to the back of Nero's exposed neck: using only his nose as a weapon, he parted his soft flowing hair at just the right spot, planting a sultry lingering peck on his now prickling skin. "In this house we look each other in the eye when we talk; I see skin, I will do that every time, just as slow and unsettling. Deal?"

Nero took his coffee and ruffled his hair at the back of his head desperately needing to hide the erupting gooseflesh. "Unsettling?" It went all the way down to the pit of his stomach, travelling dangerously low to the space between his legs where he hugged his warm mug for some sort of comfort.

"For you."

"That wasn't unsettling."

Vergil took his seat and a long drag, the burning tar scorching its way down his milky, seamless throat. "It will be when Dante sees it and freaks the fuck out."

The pair in the kitchen were loaded with coffee when Dante at long last stepped through the aluminium threshold, carrying bags upon bags of shopping – for a man of his stature he made easy work with the truckload he had to wrangle with him. Neither Vergil nor Nero offered to help him because he didn't look like he needed any. "What did I miss?"

On a pure caffeine high, Nero looked shyly over the top of his mug, seemingly more interested by the strands of steam coming from the contents of it. "I'm not telling." As if on point with his train of thought, Vergil smoothed his hand over Nero's restless thigh, only daring to stop at the evidence of his actions and ensuring his brother saw the whole thing. He drew a deep breath, biting at the corner of his mouth at how soft Vergil's hands were, how badly he wanted that hand to grapple at the waistband of his jeans and rip it off in one motion, how frantic he would plead for Vergil to-

"Whatcha got there, bro?" The twin brought him back to reality with a tight squeeze and his lidded, wandering eyes focused on the other, dumping his goldmine on the couch.

Two black suit covers were draped over his shoulder and he handled that with more care than the rest of the shopping; Dante laid them over the back of the couch to prevent anything crumpling or bending at any angle that may go unnoticed by the two come the time when they were to wear them. "I almost forgot about our meeting tomorrow – these are the suits we ordered. I had to wait for them to steam it because we both hate irons."

Vergil almost choked on his coffee. "I don't hate irons-"

"Neither do I, but I do hate you when you chase me around the house with a hot one."

Nero twisted at the comment. Why is he so normal? "Oh yeah, I do that…" Vergil stood and moved closer to the counter, not taking his hand from Nero's new favourite spot on his body; the length of his arm stretched comfortably across his hip and back, not risking movement for the sake of his own sanity. "Will you be able to fit into yours?"

Nero couldn't see, but he knew Dante had his hands on his hip and his head tilted with that eyebrow reaching for the sky. "Look here, Mr 'let me take care of the cooking because I know what you like and sadly I do because I can't stop eating everything you make', it will fit. I asked them when we placed the order to allow for some extra room for your gastronomic pursuits. I wonder whether yours will."

The two of them could not have been paying less attention to the younger brother's rant about whether or not he had gained weight in the three weeks that had elapsed between the conception and birthing of their attire; Vergil nodded along with his brother, pulling a myriad of facial expressions to show his faked genuine interest in the matter, all the while moving higher on Nero's leg as the victim of his onslaught pressed his legs together to try and stop his climb. "I don't eat like a hibernating hippopotamus every day, Dante."

Nero's barely audible voice came accompanied with his hand caressing Vergil's. _"I'm gonna bite you if you don't stop."_

His tongue made an exit out of his mouth, wetting his pink luscious lips before clamping it between his teeth. _"I'd like to see you try-"_

Nero's breath caught in his throat as Vergil pinched the fabric of his jeans, earning him an appreciative squeak. "I'm offended that you chose hippos to drive your point home; I'm not that big-"

"Hippos don't hibernate, you potato."

Finally turning his head to the duo in the kitchen, he tried unpacking the scene as it was in front of him: Vergil's missing hand; Nero's frantic, uneven heartbeat; the manner in which they looked at one another over Nero's left shoulder spoke of an untold story wavering between the two beings, fuelling a crushing fire on the outskirts of their own rational thought. They were in their own world, registering their deepest thoughts and feelings on a plane unknown to the petty creatures of the human race whilst billowing at their own desires with each respective breath they took, waiting patiently for the right time in allowing it into the field of sparks they both nurtured within their chests.

 _"You can't do this-"_

 _"I can do whatever I want."_

They looked at Dante like a benign entity crossing into their territory, their faces mere inches apart and smiling. "Okay, seriously… What the fuck did I miss?"

* * *

"Okay, the two of you need to make yourselves scarce, preferably not anywhere near the bottom region of the apartment."

Dante was triumphant in conquering three plates of lasagne – two meats and one vegetarian – while the other two were half way through their second helpings. Nero's fork hovered over his food, mentally clicking that the only option was upstairs. Where Vergil's things were. He'd taken over the upper floor as per their agreement, arguing that 'all of his shit would be out of the way if they were all piled next to each other'. The younger was grateful he came to the realisation himself as there was no way in Heaven or Hell he was going to manage getting the huge TV unit upstairs. Nero had yet to see Vergil go through any of the doors on the lower floor, and now that he thought about it he knew absolutely nothing about the space he was meant to inhabit for three days. He thought too hard, and suddenly needed to use the bathroom, which he didn't know the location to.

The worried look on his face was caught by the twins who assumed the worst, given the randomness of the statement. "It means he's making waffles."

"No, I was just thinking-" He put his fork down and looked behind him conspicuously, not seeing what he was looking for. "I need the bathroom."

Dante was a bit perplexed. "Then go."

"I don't know where it is."

His elbows made their way to the table and cradled his head on his laced fingers, pulling puppy dog eyes at his older brother. "You didn't give him a tour? What the hell were you two doing while I was g-"

"Drinking coffee, Dante. And talking."

Dante swivelled his view, looking meaningfully at Nero for the truth. If possible, his eyes were so much more intense in both colour and ferocity, and if need be he would have no problem in seeking the truth out of an unsuspecting victim. Housed behind long eyelashes, they stared deep into his soul unknowingly; he completed the look with a beautiful smile that screamed 'dare lie to me; I dare you'. "Is that what the kids call it these days? Drinking coffee?"

Nero causally took a sip of his lemonade as the twins stared him down with equal expressions on the 'are you fucking kidding me' stick. The man moved next to him and Dante misinterpreted the shift in his demeanour. "Let him speak, Vergil; let's hear just how accommodating you've been since I left."

He shrugged. "It was just coffee. Right, Vergil?" His head swung to the brother next to him, blank as a canvas.

Those eyebrows shot up once again, alternating his gaze to his brother and their visitor. "Maybe a little bit more." The hand was back – masked under the table, it was now Nero's responsibility not to give anything away, a task as formidable as the onset should the opponent across the table realise his predicament. The tremors in his spine forced him upright, an action that startled Dante in his quest for answers.

He paused seconds longer, expecting either to give the game away; when no response came, he made the tour short and sweet, dumping most of the work onto his brother. "There isn't much to show anyway. To your right is the bathroom and to your left is the pool."

Nero swallowed quickly. "Pool?"

"Yeah, and word of caution: don't get spooked when you happen to wake up at three in the morning and you suddenly hear a massive 'PSSSSHHHH' down the hall – that would be Vergil taking his routine swim."

"Isn't it freezing at that time?"

The twins shook their heads. "It's temperature controlled, so he turns the heat up full blast before climbing in. There are Jacuzzi jets in there too, and I got you some trunks so you can splash all you want." He pointed to the three unevenly-spaced doors behind the thick, black railing above. "Upstairs is his domain, so if you'd be so kind as to take him up there for an hour or so I'd really appreciate it."

"Gladly." The route to his hand from his leg was short and he was snapped from his seat to be taken up the spiral staircase to the left of the kitchen.

He stopped. "Shouldn't we help clean up?"

Vergil smirked. "He told us to fuck off; this is his responsibility."

The younger twins' eyes followed them up the stairs – he was definitely missing something. They must have taken his words seriously, seeing as the invisible glow radiating from both of them sent the same signal on the same wavelength, identical in every aspect. What was in that coffee?

"Vergil, I swear to everything that is blue and fluffy, make out with him at least once."

"I'll try my best to convince him, Dante."

They proved a deadly team; the three were well aware it was all for fun, falling like water off a duck's back and pooling at the forbidding weight between his legs, but when will it stop? When would they let him live, keeping his deepest, darkest fantasies in the recesses of his brain and not have them voiced out loud? "Do I have a say in any of this?"

"No." The voice boomed from below.

"No." It sounded behind him, a precise jab at the part of his neck that was exposed.

The fucking nerve; Nero loved the playful teasing. "Well then, I encourage you to make double the number of waffles. We might be a while."

He looked to Vergil mouthing the word _BATHROOM?_ as innocently as his body would allow. "The one right at the end; I'll still be here when you're done."

Nero pulled his hand out of Vergil's clutches and the author was taken aback, completely forgetting that they were holding hands. The door at the end closed and he felt indescribably empty; the warmth of his touch secured a sense of wonder he was too afraid to explore, and the willingness to put up with their packaged silliness counted toward his admirable character – never indecisive on the edge of wanting to be something he wasn't and staying true to the habits deep rooted in his own style and aura, which happened to be too close to Vergil's to be an outright coincidence. No, this was fate: a fate Vergil refused to believe in owing to its anonymity; a theory that proved to be different to each person; something that was neither tangible nor justifiable, yet when you encountered it 'you just knew'; who on earth would think up such a thing. He was starting to believe.

"Whatever you did, it's working."

He leaned over the balcony still deep in thought. "We just talked, Dante. That's all." He backtracked to the moment they talked and the fierce tranquillity that came with it. "I sat down with him and we talked; I gave him an ear, I listened, I responded, we smiled, and everything is good now. That's what you do with us literature buffs, Dante – all we want to do is talk. Whether it be about things we know or don't know, the voice as a concept is soothing enough to get us out of heaps of trouble. We need another sound to drown out the constant nagging we have in our own brains telling us dumb shit we don't need to hear."

Nero exited the bathroom. "Don't forget the bunnies."

"Bunnies?"

"You don't know the bunnies?" From below.

"You don't know the bunnies?" From his right. "Hmmm… Interesting." So that's not how it worked? He mirrored Vergil and leaned over the railing addressing the other; was there any angle they didn't look good in? "Tell me: where's your room, Dante?"

"That is something for specialised personnel and on a need to know basis." He winked. Fuck.

He looked to the man to his far left, and his light-hearted head tilt to the centre room sent a jolt of exhilaration through Nero's frame. Why, he had no clue, but being huddled alone in one of Vergil's secrets, encompassed in something as magical as a fragment of his world was not something you wasted petty time on. He was at Vergil's side, trying his utmost to be composed until the fiend snuck a warm hand under the material of his shirt. The scorching limb burned the skin at the small of his back as the perpetrator watched him prudently, judging his ability to hide the newest addition of torture to his repertoire. "Will you come up and get us when you're done?"

Dante gathered their dinner and cutlery and packed them into the dishwasher. He looked to the couple on the tiny balcony, content and in the zone for making his trademark masterpiece. "Just make sure you're decent when I do."

"That's why you knock before entering, but wait for some time between the knock and the entering; just in case." He contracted the muscles in his fingers, lightly grazing his flesh – the 'just in case' carried a sinister tone that bounced off the walls of the apartment, leaving Nero's mind in shambles and the smile on Dante's face to split his face in two.

"There are double doors protecting you – I wouldn't be able to get in even if I tried, Vergil."

"Oh yeah." He was forgetting on purpose and Dante knew it. "Then give me some time to buzz you in. I might not be at my desk." His voice was dripping with limitless implications, breathy and rough, smooth like velvet against their skin. Dante couldn't help getting tingly as Vergil took his leave through the middle door.

Nero stood rooted to the spot unable to move. _IS HE SERIOUS?_

Dante looked at him in the same boat. _I HAVE NO IDEA._

Vergil popped his head through the door again. "Are you coming in?"

Nero nodded, mustering all of his bodily strength at walking to the door. It closed, and they were in complete darkness, save for a small keypad similar to the locks on all of the doors. This one housed a myriad of digital numbers blinking a bright red across twelve touch-sensor buttons. "For security purposes." Vergil's voice came from somewhere to his right. "Every time you enter one button of the code the numbers get jumbled up, so cracking it is almost impossible using sight." For a room in an apartment to hold a security code specifically owned by Vergil, it must not be for the faint-hearted. The shape of a hand moved to the keypad and warily typed in the numeric cypher and the keypad altered to a bright green, its fluorescent image burned into his retina as the small space was lit once again. "48620 – if you ever need to hide from Dante." Vergil stood facing the big metal door reaching for a normal key in his loose pockets. "No significance whatsoever, but the simpler it is the harder the time Dante will have in cracking it." He turned the key and opened the door, leading to his sacred fortress.

It was not what Nero had expected but something he should have given who owned it: three out of the four walls were covered in wooden shelving and lined with books from top to bottom and left to right; to his left, half of the wall resembled the others, accompanied by another glass door and titanium rods above and next to it holding two antique swords – the same ones he saw in the portrait outside the front door. Across the roof of the door, a blue katana rested in its sheath: the distinct curve in its manufacturing was hypnotic and the quality of the hilt knocked the wind out of his lungs. Running along its side stood another, massive in contrast to the delicacy of the katana; the blade itself looked heavy, easily twenty pounds of pure steel facing straight down, and the hilt shaped in the coolest render of a skull and crossbones he had ever seen. In a corner sat a stepladder and a set of cashmere poufs for Vergil's occasional light read; a colossal desk sat at the centre, accompanied by the cosiest leather office chair, and the entire room was covered in complicated Persian carpet. No fancy paintings, no expensive pottery, and nothing of worth adorning any part of the room apart from the billions worth in books.

"It's not much, but it's my pride and joy."

Nero stood in a trance. "'My one true love.'"

Vergil turned to him, his face showing confusion and his brain already following his train of thought. "I'd recognise this scene anywhere – you described this in For when we come to die: chapter fourteen, The Catalyst. When Jaerryd sits alone in his room, drawing his one true love as an assignment, he draws this room. Everyone laughs because they think he misunderstood what he was meant to do, but then his Art teacher gives him an A+ and he hangs it up in his room for everyone to see, deftly labelling it 'my one true love'." Nero turned and gaped at a pouch hanging at the back of the door with a notepad and pen at the ready; the same notepad and pen Vergil held in his hands when they met. "It's this fucking room down to the last detail." He felt immediately bad swearing in such a sacred place. "I didn't mean to curse-"

"It's completely fine, Nero." Vergil took a few steps to the left and well out of the way for good measure. "Go ahead; take a look around."

Before making any moves, he asked one the last thing. "Where does that lead to?"

"An outside balcony – the only one this building has."

Nero took a deep breath and smelt the sharp aroma of leather mixed with obscurity, pain, and decadence for the vast amount of emotions dwelling inside each respective title. Feeling his way around the room he began behind him, touching at the sleekness of each cover, bound by the chains of literary genius. The further around the room he moved, the more his fingertips grew accustomed to the feelings elicited by the pages he glossed over, containing within them journeys of their own demise and stature laid forth for the reader and unbeknownst to the characters.

How easy it was, to simply flip through pages and pages of writing if it got too boring, not taking into account the tiniest of detail and all the blood, sweat, and tears shed by the hands that moulded it as their craft to perfectly depict the tale as seen by themselves, hoping and praying their lines of educated drabble would be deciphered accurately by its audience. How easy it was to gloss over things we didn't understand, phrases that didn't seep into our brains well enough to keep us in suspense and have our brains falling out of our ears by the end, and only with a second read-through were we able to pick up the utter brilliance in choices of words, toying with our general understanding of life and making us second guess the reality we live in.

Vergil watched him from a distance, feeling the spines with quaking fingertips and raw eyes at the quantity of works he wasn't able to recognise, yet knowing the full story cover to cover. He marvelled to Nero's reaction of pure bliss, encompassed by the meticulous care, hopes, and dreams of others brave enough to voice their creative knowledge and steamroll the literary world three hundred pages at a time. Stopping at the left wall, he turned to Vergil with stars in his eyes, twinkling on the brims of overexposure. "This is incredible."

Vergil stood with his arms at his back. "This is what happens when you refuse to throw anything away."

He smiled and turned again, facing the biggest wall and noticed a small abnormality – on the fifth shelf from the bottom stood a single, thin, red leather book on the far right side of the shelf. It deviated from the usual deep brown Vergil was used to, and the size was less than a third in comparison to the rest of them, making it stand out even more. The owner was finicky in everything he did, and interfering in something like that was swimming in dangerous waters. He was so entranced by everything that a single yellow post-it note hanging off the threshold of the balcony door almost went unnoticed – again, Vergil had a method to his madness. Everything in its place had a reason to be there, but a post-it note?

Being the nosy person he was, Nero walked over to the note that was far beyond his reach. "What's that?"

Vergil saw his path and came up behind him, plucking it from the piece of tape that held it in place. "Read it for yourself."

So he did:

 _Evaginare:_

 _Yet to this day, what was once a fine being had  
_ _Altered to the darkness without hesitation,  
_ _Mocking its wielder  
_ _And the lifelines cut short within its range;  
_ _Too slow, too weak, too human  
_ _Over and through in addition to its growing power._

"I can't take credit for that one; it's Dante's first and only poem he's ever tried writing." Nero handed the paper back to him for sticking it once more. "It's quite special to me, so I keep it close to the only other thing I worship apart from him."

The student pointed to the poised weapon above him. "The sword?"

Vergil smiled in confirmation. "Handed down to me from my father. That one belongs to Dante as you can see." It was impossible to not make the connection. They suited both of them so well.

"Can you fight?"

"A little; taken a couple of classes here and there until I broke my arm and swore to never go there again."

He glided across the room to another section of books that looked justly newer than the rest. "Can I ask you something?" Nero directed his full attention on him, noting the outlandishness of the question. "Any work of mine you haven't read yet?"

And the pink tinge returned to his cheeks. "Nope – I've read everything-"

"You sure?" Of course, the enquiry was bound to surface sooner or later; Vergil moved to the exact centre of one specific partition, counting to four as he tapped along spines of books without titles and pulled one out, the movements as gentle as can be. He handed the novel over to a curious face who accepted it as if it were a mythological gemstone. "Not exactly the best for a single male, but give this a try."

The title was written in gold pen, scrawled across the whole front cover from the bottom left corner to the top right. _Claustrophobia_. "I've never heard of it."

So he'd hoped. "It's coming out in two months; that's what the completed, edited prototype looks like before proper printing and publication. You'd be the second person in the history of mankind to read that. Well, Dante doesn't read my books when he edits them, so for the sake of sensibleness you're the first." The tiny flick to his nose didn't shake his stare from the book. "Try and enjoy it."

His eyes stayed down, tracing the triple-gold outline of the letters. "You don't read them?"

"Everything I've written can be attributed to me feeling something that I no longer want to feel. When I write, the emotions and memories go onto the words and I'm left sublimely empty. It's pointless to read them and have those atrocities back inside my head-"

Vergil looked down to Nero still in genuine awe at what he held in his hands; with one last trace he held the book to his chest, hugging it to his chest like the most precious thing he would ever lay his hands on. He didn't notice the fatal mistake until he felt Vergil's lips at the back of his neck, lingering a second longer than before and slowly moving to look him in the eye, wondering if a 'thank you' would ever be enough to show his gratitude.

They stared for a minute too long, waiting not so patiently for the other to make the first move; they definitely felt it hanging in the air since the afternoon, and now seemed the best time to vanquish every moral they stood behind and dive into the water that was each other, treading into the depth they had reserved for one another throughout the course of the day. Vergil dipped his head at angle comfortable for Nero, and he twirled on his heels to hit the kiss head on; their foreheads touched as an insatiable, needed breath of air, pushing them that much closer to the precipice they were both dying to jump from.

A tiny knock sounded from the door. "Are you decent?"

They pulled apart immediately. Vergil stared poison at the steel door as he moved behind his desk and sat, reaching underneath to a flip a hidden switch for the door to open. He remained seated and left Nero where he was as Dante stepped through wearing a deep crimson cooking apron that was surprisingly clean. "Waffles are done – please grab them while they're hot."

Nero had forgotten all about the waffles; he looked cautiously at Vergil as he erupted in incredulous laughter. He tried following in his footsteps, but the weight of the situation that blew over finally hit him with apt force, propelling him forward and out of the door. The heaviness in his chest expelled in a fit of giggles out of earshot; he was getting closer and even though his only opportunity blew over like a puff of smoke he read that moment as them being on the same page, feeding off the same energy and hanging on the same thread that held together their respective sanities. The twins heard quick steps as he descended the stairs and went passed the kitchen, coming back with a quicker pace and sitting down at the table. Nothing would be able to wipe the smile off his face.

Dante turned to his brother with a satisfied smirk. "You better get moving before he eats everything. They came out extra good today."

Vergil was still laughing. "Your timing is impeccable today, brother. Really."

Dante took it as a compliment.


	4. Saturday morning

Nero stole a glance to the glowing LED of the alarm clock on the small cabinet next to the bed. It was exactly three in the morning, and not a moment too soon had he heard the 'PSSSSHHHH' Dante was talking about; he was still up since the previous night, unable to put Claustrophobia down since its first page. Nero was used to losing sleep over the crushing urge to finish what he started, so it came as no surprise to him that he was able to hear Vergil in the pool.

After his initial jump things went unexpectedly silent and Nero became more and more curious with every passing second. His concentration wavered slightly, not able to take in the words he was reading owing to the situation a couple of feet from him. He was dying in bed, his mouth dry from thinking of what kind of costume Vergil owned right down to what may be the most impressive bulge in the history of existence. In typical Nero fashion, he closed the book with his finger on his page and whacked himself on the head, chastising over the impure thoughts of a man whose ideals he held higher than life itself.

Reading through line after line, nothing made its way through his skull as the unseen distraction toyed with him more than he predicted; lumbering in his new, soft, oversized purple pyjamas and black version of Vergil's fluffy slippers – courtesy of Dante's handiness in the sleepwear department – he set the book down for its own safety on the table, waking his mind to be vigilant for the two sharp angles he had to manoeuvre through just to make it to the open plan portion of the apartment. The moon shone through the huge windows and reflected its eerie light against the greyscale living room, providing Nero with sufficient light to trek across to the opposite end without needing a light switch – not that he knew where those were either.

He laid his ear against the door and heard very faint swishes of water, assuming it was Vergil just casually walking around the pool or taking tiny dips at a time; the way his pale skin glinted under artificial lights as excess water flowed down his broad shoulders ignoring the quicker detour and opting for the long route over his tight, muscled chest and arms, leaving neutral drool in its wake; the manner in which his body flexed to an unheard tempo, gliding through the water at his own stride like the axiomatic god he was, the substance passionately submitting to every one of his commands. True, it was all in his head, but that laid no grounds for its impossibility.

Nero could hear Vergil's restless breath as he broke free from the warm pool, shaking his head and ridding his silver strands of the burdening liquid. For a long time, he listened to him breathing; the sweet sound of exertion mixed with the air that graced his lungs was intrigue in its finest form as he gazed to the handle of the door, doubting a single touch to the lukewarm piece of steel would offer the balls he needed to open it. As a few seconds would prove, he no longer needed it. "You can come in if you want." He thought there was a glitch to his hearing; he impulsively let go of the door as if the contact made Vergil aware of his presence. "I can see your feet by the door Nero."

"How do you know it's me?" Nero could have easily entered without guilt; instead he dug the hole deeper as he strained his brain to see the image unfold.

"Dante would have stormed through after a millisecond behind the door."

Oh well, so much for snooping; he opened the door slowly, venturing into the room he had only heard of – he dove headfirst into layer upon layer of unknown territory in the past couple of hours more than he had ever achieved in his twenty three years of life. He poked his head through, getting a good view of the expensive black tiles that lined the wall from floor to ceiling; speaking of the ceiling, it housed several thousand fibre optic lights stretching across it with a few bits and bobs sticking out for a real night-time star effect; a tiny piece of the pool was visible, the bottom clouded by the murky, boiling water Vergil had set for himself. Stepping inside the room, the wall to his left and right came equipped with towel and robe hangers for your choice of a quick refreshing dip or a long soak that left you looking like a raisin.

At long last his eyes budged to the spread of hair at the centre of the pool ready to break the surface of the water for some much needed air: Vergil pounced, securing his feet on the slippery base of the pool and shaking his head wildly in the warm air. Using both his hands he frisked it backward, giving him his traditional slicked-back look and wiped his face clean of the moist residue. The pool came to his waist where he stood – the upward motion of his arms involuntarily set his biceps on display, allowing Nero to watch tiny droplets of water regret their life choices as they slid from his arms to a variety of places on his chest and abs. Wherever Nero looked was firm skin and an abundance of results from tireless sessions at the gym, sculpting him into a piece of art that made Aphrodite quit her day job. He turned to Nero as his eyes dawdled on the V protruding from the water level and a tiny cluster of silver hairs that lead further downward. Oh dear; Vergil hit him with a winning sneer as he wrung out the shiny mess on his head, fluffing it out and giving a new definition to 'sex on legs'. He walked toward him in his wet state, holding the side of the pool close to his black slippers. "I've actually just come to check whether or not you have some cold water with you."

"I don't." The air was rife with heat; too much at once and he could get really sick. At least, that's what Nero told himself. "Would it make you feel better if I had some?"

"If it would make you feel better at me feeling better that you had some, then yes."

Vergil glided to the general area where the steps would be, offering Nero the best view of his back. His hair seemed so much longer under wet circumstances and covered most of his neck, while the broadness of his shoulders made Nero take two steps back to take it all in; the ridges along the smooth skin moved with each motion, illustrating the heavenly mechanics of his body and everything that came with it. He climbed up the first few mini steps. "That's actually a good idea-"

The higher he climbed, the more Nero wondered how low he wore his swimming costume. "I'll get it, it's okay." Gods forbid he needed an ice cold shower after this. In all honesty, he'd hate to be the reason his hero got something as stupid as the flu. "Ice and lemon?"

He was up to his antics again, clearly knowing what he was doing to the poor boy. "Please."

Nero effortlessly slipped through the door to the kitchen. Vergil scratched at his naked, damp chest, leaving his hand to linger on his stomach a little while longer. He looked bashfully through his long, lustrous eyelashes as the door sealed, pinching at the supple, unforgiving area below his belly button and tracing the trail of little hairs until both his hands were wedged between his legs.

Nero located a humungous glass jug and filled it to the brim with ice cold water from the fridge, throwing into it an entire tray of its frozen ancestors and slicing the lemon into rings to float at the top. He grabbed a tall glass from the cabinet in the corner and walked briskly to his infernal demise, a piece of his soul perishing with each step as giddiness overflowed within the grey matter between his ears. This was very unlike him in every aspect, but the overturned leaf nagging at the forefront of his mind looked good from where he stood, still undecided on the new lease on life instilled by the daring twin, but wherein lied the harm in stretching his wings a little? Why it had to be Vergil, a man so open and brilliant, so delectably insane and far from his expectations to be the one to let loose on, disregarding his isolated upbringing and letting himself be, living in the moment and not predisposed with the burden of assessing eyes from the shadows, he'd never know. Was this pure freedom or was it the better, more well-known illusion? Whichever he chose for it to be, he liked it. A lot.

He entered the room, spotting two glowing, incinerating blue eyes directly in front of him; Vergil immersed half his face into the warm water like a crocodile stalking his next meal, keeping a keen eye on the fresh meat that had just wandered into his domain. He stood and wiped his face, leaning over the ledge of the pool and resting his head on his arms. "Where do you want it?"

"Just here is fine." He tapped the flat surface in front of him. "Why don't you sit for a bit? Or are you in a hurry to get back to sleep?"

Vergil's gaze followed him as he sank to the floor and crossed his legs, making the black fluff comfortable under his weight. "I haven't slept yet; I'm almost finished with your book." He poured Vergil a full glass as a preventative measure, being careful not to spill anything, which was pointless.

Passing it down one level, the author took it kindly and finished the entire glass not realising how thirsty the damp air had made him. He passed the glass back and Nero poured another; one look at the satisfaction on his face spoke volumes as soon as the beverage made its steely way through his body and cooled him from the inside out. Vergil's breathing stilled at the chilly pinpricks created, his silken pecks rising and falling to regulate his body temperature. "Where are you now?"

Again, he was trying not to spill. "Halfway through chapter thirty six. I would have been further, but I read chapter fifteen three times – I couldn't get over it."

This was something he could never get tired of; hearing someone taking a liking to his mindless rambling only turning into a cohesive whole after months of meetings and editing done mainly by his brother. His books shrunk healthily to an acceptable size with Dante in the picture; he never enjoyed writing for the purpose of allowing the world to hear his thoughts, falling into a trope of writing only what the general public wanted to hear, concentrating on the good and discounting the tangible. That wasn't what Vergil was about, and that was why Nero wasn't just someone else. Even Dante could see it. "Oh, only four more to go. Impressive." Nero was sitting close enough for Vergil to remove his slippers from his feet and roll his loose pyjamas over his knees. "But you're losing sleep."

Vergil pulled him closer to the edge and dipped his feet into the warm water; it was comfortable and enthralling, plucking the strings of his eminent tiredness that he had fought for the sake of pre-published literature. When he began his journey, being awake for countless hours was a feat he had mastered long before college, but falling into the habits of a proper master's student sleep snuck up on him through the day and sometimes during the course of his lectures, unable to keep his eyes open to make up for the few hours he had lost. "It's indirectly your fault."

"I'm done growing; I know you still have a few inches to go, so-"

"Oh you're hilarious." Nero tried kicking him with flecks of water, but the urge to avenge his small stature compared to the twins subsided with Vergil kneading the muscles at the back of his legs; it relaxed and frustrated him at the same time, making him lean on his arms as his skilled touch pressed at the equally impressive skin on his calves, simultaneously allowing for slumber to slip into the top level of his subconscious. "You and your brother are huge, that's more having to do with genetics than me being tiny in comparis-" he stopped to let a yawn through, Vergil taking no mercy. "What was I saying?"

"Yes, point made. Our shoulders are a problem." He moved to his ankles, keeping the joints submerged and applying the right amount of pressure to not cause him any pain. Progressing to his feet, Vergil watched him carefully as each point he prodded reacted to a specific body part on Nero's build. Currently, he focused his attention on his back, using his thumb to encircle around the bundle of nerves.

Nero's arms grew heavy under the added weight of tiredness and evidently surrendered, lying flat on the cool onyx tiles and cracking his back on the way down. "It's not just… your… shoulders…" Vergil was wreaking havoc on the poor boy, controlling his every move from nerve central – as far as Nero knew, it was a simple foot massage as payment for keeping him company for a few minutes, but the thorough bastard and his larks were an unstoppable force only made stronger at the power of two. The strong, commanding sensations tingled through his entire body and quelled at the base of his neck; messing with his head would be too easy from his position. He pushed downward on his insteps exploding the impending bubble of tension in his ankles that resulted in him jolting straight up in a mix of dazed discomfort and reprieve.

Nero was more awake than when he first entered the room. "What were we talking about?"

Vergil repositioned between Nero's legs with his back against the pool wall. "Chapter fifteen." The smooth motion of lifting his legs over his shoulders was almost imperceptible. "You blanked out during your explanation of the-" The dry man behind him raked his fingers in his damp locks, feeling his way through the tufts of soft hair as he spoke; over and over his fingertips gently grazed his scalp, tenderly admonishing the control Vergil thought he had over the situation, "-of the way you related to-" Nero added his other hand to the mix, beginning at the sides of his head and clawing his way to the back, fiddling with the baby hairs on his sleek, powerful neck and smoothing out the creases left by his tricks in the water. Vergil kept his composure well enough for his head to hit the ledge and telepathically urge Nero not to stop. "You said you really liked chapter fifteen."

Whatever they wished to call it – a table flip, a three sixty, you name it – Nero had bested Vergil at his own game. "Speaking of which I have to get back to reading." It couldn't even described as being left high and dry; Nero poured a final glass before heading to his room – extra ice and lemon for the sour individual roaming in the water.

"Before you do," a one eighty flip and two deep middle fingers to Nero's feet later, he dipped his head behind him and shook it out over the student, "take one for the road."

"What did you-" It hit him between the eyes, hard and taxing: Vergil nonchalantly swam to the other side of the pool as Nero collapsed in pleasured agony, writhing and moaning on the tiled floor. Unwillingly his body contorted into a foetal position, attempting to hinder the distress signal Vergil had initiated. Facing the opposite wall it finally stopped, leaving him panting and dizzy as every pint of blood focused on actively accumulating in one lengthy, delicately scrumptious spot. The hands that covered the new ache moved slowly, confirming Vergil's handicapable proficiency. "God, Vergil, did you just give me a boner?"

"An unbearably painful one." Vergil made use of the spare time he had, cupping bouts of water and throwing it on himself to warm his chilling skin; all would have been achieved in one dip under the water, but this was more fun, seeing as Nero finally mustered the energy to turn his face in his direction. "Enjoy your reading."

His skin was on fire in the best way possible; replicating the marvel as if he were in a fitting state of affairs, the bulking organ swelled without his consent beneath him – without so much as a warning the irritation altered to instinctive carnality, and being the reward-after-play soul that Nero was, his hands sneaked into the elastic of the loose cottons, feeling his way through overcoming the torturous obstacle. "I can't move." The skin on his penis was stretched beyond its limit, the tiniest of his touches proving too sensitive. "Fuck, since when is this meant to hurt?"

"It's not." And didn't he wish he could see the look on Vergil's face as he said that. The tone was all he needed to mould the face from which the comment came: that signature half-smirk and a raised eyebrow complimented by a not-so-gentle bite to the corner of his mouth, a misplaced piece of fringe draping over one eye, and his gorgeous chest and arms on full display, nonchalantly crossed along his stomach to make the look appear more natural.

Nero listened carefully: Vergil voice bounced off the water. He was a clearing distance away, and Nero prayed he wouldn't randomly pop up behind him while he stole a few seconds for himself. Bending at the wrist, he gaped toward his hand… bursting into a fit of laughter.

 _A few inches my ass._

* * *

Dante stood at the foot of Vergil's bed watching him sleep; the silky covers rose and fell with every breath, alternately covering and exposing Vergil's bare chest. For as long as they'd been living together Vergil never took a liking to pyjamas or any comfortable clothing for the purpose of sleep, owing to it defeating the fact of being content whilst your body regenerated its lost energy. That, and that it made going to the bathroom so much easier. Both their respective bathrooms were quite a distance from their sleeping quarters, so Dante was used to seeing his brother in his birthday suit walk up and down his balcony whenever the concept of being comfortable was disturbed by one too many cups of coffee too late at night. He had also made the mistake of assuming the trend may have discontinued for the weekend because of the extra presence; turns out not so much.

"How long are you planning on standing there, Dante?"

Vergil faced the wall to his left, opening his sparkling blue marbles and turning to face a mirror image of himself, wearing too many pieces of clothing for this early in the morning. Dante was in a white tank and black boxer shorts; at least he wore no underwear. "Long enough to figure out if you're naked or just not wearing a shirt."

"If I'm not wearing a shirt what makes you think I'm wearing pants?" The man in the bed turned to his brother, leaning on his arm and creating the same shape with his leg below.

Dante was searching for any show of material under the covers; maybe his duvet would play along and hug the right spots to display tracksuit pants of low-cut briefs. The silhouette created by Vergil's leg gave nothing away and the room had no proper lighting for a shadow to form. "Good point." Tilting his head for the sake of naïve fascination, he ventured through four different angles for his brother's amusement before the elder guiltlessly lifted the covers for Dante to have a good look. Yep – how could he think Vergil opted for pants when the battle for the shirt was lost? "Nope, and here I almost gave you the benefit of the doubt." It wasn't a cold morning, so he got his brother's better angle. "On a side note, you're deliberately huge today."

Vergil dropped the sheets and stretched his lean, velvety frame, flattening his palms on his headboard and pushing down, multiple areas popping their way into the new day as his face distorted to a fresh stage of sublime. "And to think I didn't do anything to it the entire night."

"It's those swims; they make you too relaxed."

"Perhaps you should give them a try, little brother."

The indirect insult had the walls cringing in awkwardness; Vergil was not one for a recurring joke, but making fun of Dante's package was something he could get used to – that piece of information was on a need to know basis, and an opportunity for him needing to know the exact details between his legs had never presented itself. "Those three extra minutes paid off for you, Verge. When you entered the world I pumped all the nutrients I could and guess where I sent it?"

He stood at the open door as Vergil got out of bed. "I'll believe it when I see it, Dante." He walked to his closet of the other end of the room and retrieved their suits for their scheduled meeting; feeling Dante's eyes on him he grabbed a nearby hand towel and wrapped it around him, hanging low on his hips. "Better?"

"Barely – and don't get a big head for this – but your tip is still sticking out the bottom."

He shifted his concentration to the suits, unzipping the covers and checking the ties to find his one. He chose the silky skinny tie while Dante chose the normal cotton one – without light and much feeling in his fingers he couldn't tell. "Good. I was only aiming to cover my ass."

If Dante ever went blind from rolling his eyes too much, the doctors attending to him would just need to spend an afternoon with his brother. Case closed. He left the bedroom with his sanity intact, speeding down the stairs for a much needed pot of filter coffee he'd lazily have to make.

 _How he could let that thing swing around would always be a mystery._

Upon returning with two mugs filled to the brim with liquid black magic, Vergil was fully dressed in his suit and struggling with his tie. He laid both cups on the dressing table and trekked to his brother, spinning him on the spot and pulling the silky material from Vergil's hands. "You were never good with these." Dante flipped his collar and redid the tie, his hands moving in fluid motions across Vergil's neck until a perfect tie was made; tying the collar button and neatly folding the collar over the tie, he brushed off the creases in his shirt. "And just putting it out there, I want to take a bite out of you."

Dante always made a fuss when it came to Vergil's appearance; even though his identity remained a secret, there was no excuse to not look your best at all times. In their line of work faces hardly mattered, but they got you into places wouldn't usually get into wearing a shabby shirt and formal jeans. He prioritised suits as a must for the meetings, exhibiting a level of sophisticated elegance and seriousness when it came to their work spaces. With both of them needing very little to be displayed as irresistible, Dante's extra over-the-top additions only made their mouths water even more – men and women alike. "You flatter me, brother." It always tickled when he did that. "I've never been so comfortably uncomfortable in my life."

Dante finished smoothing him out, passing his custom platinum cufflinks over as the final touch to his outfit. "It's only for a few hours. When we get home in the afternoon, I'll keep Nero busy in his room and you're free to roam in nothing but the cosiest pair of slippers you own." He was equally unashamed of his body, stripping close to his attire spread on Vergil's bed and earning a few inappropriate, teasing whistles from the other end of the room. They couldn't look too alike, so Dante hung his blazer over his shoulder as he left the room looking impeccably perfect.

He was ready to leave Vergil's room when he looked at him through his wall mirror. "Wait, when you say keep Nero busy-"

"I'll be downstairs Verge. Hurry up so we can leave." Dante seized his cup and fluffed his hair to 'sex-me-now', a mode he seldom used for the benefit for others. "Don't forget your glasses this time."

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he spotted Nero in the kitchen trying to make a pot with closed eyes and failing. He clutched at a cashmere pillow supporting his head from falling off his shoulders out of sheer fatigue, hearing a few noises to his right and not registering the aura of one of the twins. He couldn't figure out why the machine wasn't working until Dante pulled out the biggest mug they owned and filled it with a lifeline for Nero. The younger man watched him pour and placed it on the counter in front of him; Dante waited for him to take a sip, but instead he placed the pillow down and engulfed him in a hug around his waist. "I love you."

He left his hands suspended for a while, not comprehending the sudden shift in Nero's demeanour toward him. "You know its Dante, right?"

Nero surprisingly relaxed into his frame. "You just gave me coffee – I love you." The words came out muffled as he spoke into Dante's chest, too exhausted to lift his head and look him in the eye. He let go and attacked the coffee, becoming a new person when the mug ebbed to the halfway line. "Whatever magic you pulled inside that pot, my body is forever in your debt."

Dante was in the process of pouring a second helping, praying Vergil would hurry up and see this side of him. Not conscious enough to realise mistakes but cute enough to worm his way into getting anything. Damn, he was adorable. "Why are you awake?"

Nero held out his cup in both hands, giving Dante sweet eyes as thanks for another portion – he complied, not able to resist him in this state and refusing to give the devil some coffee was a damned scribble away from his to-do list. "I came to wish you guys luck for today. You'll still smash them to pieces, but I'd feel horrible if I didn't-"

"But why are you so tired?"

Nero watched the black liquid fill his cup. "Oh," he began, taking a nourishing, blistering sip. "I was reading and then went to sit with Vergil for a bit. Then he did something that woke me up a week ago-"

Dante nearly spat out his coffee. "You were with Vergil? By the pool?" He coughed at a few dregs switching pipes last minute as he held in a much needed fit of giggles, doubling over to hide his face from Nero.

The correct procedure in this instance would be for him to muster all his strength and hit Dante on the back, bringing up the offending drips to the better pipe. What Nero did was far from helpful, tapping his spine with a gentle touch in not wanting to mess up his suit. "Yes. Why? Is that a problem?"

"No, but…" Nero knew that smile. What was he missing? "… did you see anything unusual?"

A tile out of place? The Jacuzzi jets out of order? An uneven surface of some sort? "Unusual?" He took a big gulp from his cup, thinking it would jog his memory on something he may have missed.

The twin looked innocently over his coffee, seeing the reaction playing in his head. "Yeah, like his penis?"

It was Nero's turn to almost spill his entire drink; Dante's turn to hit him on his back the proper way – it left him winded. "NO! DID HE TELL YOU THAT?"

The bigger man hit the counter multiple times to quiet his lungs at how badly he wanted to run around the apartment reiterating the ridiculousness of the situation. Not only did Nero not know, he wasn't even curious enough to look regardless of that fact. Dante's laugh was too contagious, and a mere human of Nero's calibre proved too useless to resist; they shared a laugh too good to go unnoticed. "Not at all. But when he swims in the morning he's always naked. He hates clothes like you wouldn't believe." He wiped the tears from his eyes from something he didn't know he needed. "A week ago?"

Nero cleared his throat embarrassingly, a dust of pink slowly overcoming his cheeks. "Vergil touched my feet and gave me a boner." The memory came back into his mind, as well as its result in the front of his pyjamas; he grappled for the pillow to cover his mid-section while expertly balancing his mug in his other hand. "One that still happens to pop in from time to time."

"Oh yeah, he does that. I've tried to learn it but his fingers are unexpectedly strong, and you can only hit that nerve pressing that deep into your foot." Dante flagrantly pulled the sleep apparatus from him, leaving him exposed to the warm morning air; he wasn't curious at all, knowing the baggage couldn't be classified as carry-on and needed to be checked in for a nominal fee, but the evidence in front of him made him pull an ugly face of approval, down-turning the corners of his mouth and nodding with raised eyebrows. He was impressed; he may be able to pull off the impossible. "And how many thresholds has that bad boy crossed?"

"None, and he's okay with that." The purple cottons accentuated him accordingly, furnishing what he had on offer the right way and not taking away from the viewing experience. "His owner takes such good care of him he doesn't need it."

Dante was being nosy, but was there going to be another opportunity to exploit Nero at his most vulnerable? He wasn't all there in the morning, but he managed to provide truthful answers to all his questions so far. "Really? None?" He stepped closer, the seam of his trousers ghosting Nero's apparent dilemma. "But you're so yummy, I wanna lick you."

Nero's eyes gleamed something menacing and fantastic, not as allusive as Dante expected. He turned on his heel and walked to the door with Dante in tow, pulling him along the invisible string around his neck. "Women tend to stay away from bookworms because they know they'll always be second. Or so I've been told." Bad idea to have walked across the room with an almost-empty cup; he could no longer hide the deep shade of red he could feel on his neck snaking to his face.

"And men?"

Their eyes met in a sensual leer. "That's an avenue I've never ventured. Never asked and never been asked, and I don't have an answer to that."

Dante plucked at the strings of his unyielding web, drawing his prey in with the serenity of his movements, hypnotising them into a condition of uttermost submission and twirling them around his finger; he preferred to keep Nero at bay with special privilege under his brother, but that wasn't enough to hinder him in his relentless quest to drag it out for as long as he needed until the boy gave in to his innermost demons, and he'd be there to watch it burst free like a shaded cloud of ecstasy stemming from desires he kept sheltered for most of his life. They were closer now, his hot breath on the line of Nero's jaw as tempting as it was dangerous. "Find one before tonight. It'll do you the world of good-"

"Stop antagonising him, Dante."

Their heads turned at the voice saturated in virility and with an equivalent guise: Armani had never looked this good; jet black and tight, apart from his white shirt, hanging low on his hips to entice all who were curious, and the skinny tie finishing it all off as the most removable piece of clothing on him; a different silver Rolex gracing his left arm, putting shame on Nero's college tuition; shiny, Italian Valentino customs that made cobblers shake in their boots; his silver hair tucked neatly in one general direction apart from a few strands used to highlight his cheekbones, pale complexion, and razor-edged jaw; and last but not least, the stylish half-framed glasses Nero had seen once before sitting on the bridge of his nose forcing nothing but deep stares into his crystal-clear blue eyes. It was a sin; a personal, personified ring of hell that materialised before his very eyes into nothing more and nothing short of pure perfection. The aura around him was penetrating, extreme, fragrant on the tongue with undertones of musk and sex mingling into a pleasing aroma that tingled in his lungs with every breath, burning away at his fragile clutch on the reality in front of him. Nero's mouth gaped open as he took Vergil in all his glory. "How do I look? Is it too much?"

"To take off, yes." The smaller man wouldn't dare waste time on looking at anything else.

"I don't think so." His brother still gawked; he officially doubted that they were twins. "It's just the right amount of too much."

Good idea to have walked across the room with an almost-empty cup.

Vergil did a final check in the mirror next to the bathroom, and that's when Nero saw it, completely boggled he had not seen it before; he spotted two matching silver rings on their ring fingers. It was something obvious the two of them would have given their outward status, but they were bachelors – two implausibly gorgeous, horny, healthy, could-only-be-better-if-they-were-dipped-in-chocolate men who could have anyone they wanted crawling at their feet and clawing at one another for something as trivial as a glance in their direction. Why do the one thing to prevent all of that? "What are the wedding rings for?"

Dante fidgeted with his at the mention, removing it and handing it over to Nero. Yep – plain white gold, as he suspected. "These are dependent on his mood: if he feels the need to get freaky we take them off. If he wants the wolves at bay they stay on."

Nero gave the ring back and he slid it into place. "You'd be amazed at the power this piece of metal holds over them. You'd be shocked at what lengths people would go to just to catch a glimpse of a part of you no one has seen before." Vergil was strangely insightful this early in the day.

"Speaking of which," Dante's timing couldn't have been more right, "Nero had absolutely no clue you were naked in the pool last night."

The mutual twinsanity look made its well-awaited comeback: the younger was a bit more expressive in his disbelief, yet the elder was reasonably confused. "You didn't?" Nero really didn't. "Then why were you there in the first place?"

Was there a way to say it plainly? "THE WATER, VERGIL! I! GOT! YOU! WATER!"

And at once what he thought was mischievous reserve turned to pure concern for his well-being. "I thought that was just an excuse."

Never mind the excuse – did Vergil think that was what Nero wanted to see? Did he believe himself in saying it was an excuse? Did he not care if Nero had stolen a glimpse at his manhood bouncing happily in the warm water? "So… you wouldn't have minded?"

Vergil dropped his shoulders and sauntered to him, an exquisite strong hand resting on his shoulder. "Nero, did you really think I'd give you a book without knowing you'd want to finish it and your reading happening to coincide with my wet, naked escapades?" The warm hand moved to his neck, annoying as it was welcomed. "I'm an intellect, what else was I meant to do?" The twins synchronised a provocative, patronisingly rewarding smile; all there was to it was Nero just missing one tiny aspect. That's what he'd tell himself come bedtime. "Anyway, we're about to leave, so please make yourself at home; there's food and drink in the fridge, dry snacks in the cupboards, wet snacks depending on where the need to be; there's fruit, ice cream, everything at your disposal. Make yourself something if you prefer, just promise us you'll look after yourself while you're gone."

The twins gave him a grave look – they were dead serious. "Guys, I'll be fine-"

"My number is on the fridge should anything happen. Dante will be doing most of the talking while I play Piano Tiles so I'm more reachable than he is."

Vergil must be a treat at parties. "I have to keep his brain occupied. He doesn't realise what happens when he opens his mouth."

He could understand from an outsider's point of view, but Vergil? Synonymous with incoherent babble? Who would have thought the possibility? The hand on Nero's shoulder floated to Vergil's small waist as he glared at the truth of Dante's convenient outburst. "I take offense to that."

"I mean offense to that." He looked at the glimmering watch on his wrist. Cartier – Nero should have guessed. "And on that note, we bid you farewell."

The twins left a lingering taste in the air as they walked through the door, full of purpose and determination for the meeting to be a success; Nero wished he owned two small glass vials to capture the alluring residue, sneaking in whiffs of it whenever he was in a mischievous or glum mood. He heard the elevator cry out its DING for service, and as it made its way to the hidden floor Vergil stepped back inside his apartment hanging on the threshold of the door. A quick decision later he was in the apartment, holding the door ajar with his foot and three long, milky fingers hovering over his face. "Don't forget to eat. Don't forget to relax. Don't drown; neither of us knows CPR."

"I DO!" A voice came from behind him.

"FINGERING ISNT CPR!"

"AS LONG AS I FEEL A PULSE, IT DOESN'T MATTER WHERE I FEEL IT, RIGHT?"

Vergil looked off to the uppermost corner of the lounge and heaved a sigh at his brother, yearning that the next couple of hours weren't going to pan out the way he thought they would. A spring in his conscience pushed him forward where he closed his door with the same foot that held it open, holding Nero's hands over the cup he was on his way to fill. The longing stare in Vergil's eyes caught him off guard, as if this goodbye would be their last. "Stay safe – I will do the two hour drive by myself if anything happens, okay?"

He was going to miss him; it hadn't been a day, and Vergil could see himself slinking into mint-condition boredom knowing that Nero was hundreds of miles away and not just in another room of his cosy stead. The boy shuddered under his gaze, feeling every bit of scorching intent in the deepest pit of his belly. "Go, your second biggest fan is waiting."

An elegant, complex expression swamped his flawless features, roguishly screening the implied meaning to Nero's cleverly constructed command. "Think of me while you're gone?" Vergil opened his front door for the last time.

"A HEARTBEAT BETWEEN THE LEGS IS BETTER THAN ANYONE BEING DEAD!"

"THAT'S NOT THEIR HEARTBEAT, DANTE!"

The rest of their conversation was a cloud of muffled voices as they jumped into their ride down to the underground parking area. Nero was alone in the massive apartment; he felt smaller still, owing to the colossal beings not present to put the sizes of everything into perspective. The expanse of the room was intimidating, threatening almost, but the twins had given him free reign over their castle, conscious of the sole aspect he'd dare to touch. "Don't doubt it – I will."

Carrying out the action of refilling his mug for the last time, he stood in the kitchen and built a mental to-do list of everything he wanted to do before the boys came home: raid some more of Vergil's collection until the words were coming out of his ears. As tantalising as that sounded, his outrageous lower region called to him, screaming for its concentrated needs to be satisfied under the rod of muscle that began swelling and making him unearthly uncomfortable. As stubborn as his body was being, he couldn't help but welcome the fire once again; an unparalleled impulse in feeding a hunger only one could fulfil, beating upon every inch of his being as he slowly descended into a rewarding madness. Nero looked past his empty coffee mug at the visceral workings of his brain, a gentle bite to his lip as he crossed the room and locked the bathroom door with more than the required force.

 _I can't believe I'm doing this._

Nero struggled to keep a dignified expression on his face as he stepped into the white, unblemished bathtub, lying on the cool ceramic to quell the burn of his body; he regulated his breathing at the icy floor, sluggishly removing his purple bottoms and setting it on the border of the bath; he lifted the hem of his shirt and crushed it between his teeth, exposing warm air on his toned chest as one hand clutched at the hair on his head, the other feeling its way over his torso inching toward its timid destination. He closed his eyes, imagining the supple balmy texture of his hand belonging to another, delving into a realm of unknowing decadence as his hand gripped at the base of his erection, a miniscule whimper stifled by the cotton cloth.

 _They had both left the apartment, but you were so blinded by budding lust that you reopened it at full force, practically forcing the twin into his homestead and locking the door behind him. Soon enough you'd hear the other calling for him, but what you were about to do – unplanned and virtuous – would make him drown out every sound and focus on your breathing and heartbeat as you immersed yourself in all he had to offer to you on a silver platter. And what an impressive fucking platter it was: you dragged him into the lounge and made quick work with his slacks and underwear, being careful in not creasing the expensive fabric. He'd bend down for a kiss but you weren't having any of that – your mind told you to be as fast as you could, only interrupting their schedule by minutes they could make up on the road. You shoved him into the lonely armchair and spread his legs, visibly watching the blood from the rest of his body drain to accommodate the scene unravelling in front of him, his tongue licking his lips calmly and impassive by your surge of courage._

Nero clawed at his skin, willing his penis to harden more at the sight of his closed eyes; his eyebrows furrowed in concentration at the gentle, upward motions of his palm, seeking to massage it into submission for a quicker outcome. He climbed to the middle, his ministrations becoming as erratic as his unsteady breathing, the work of his lungs aiming to normalise his physical state and hinder the size of his oncoming release. Futile.

 _He slumped in his chair and his legs spread wider under you as you mounted the beast, your legs and arms supporting you on both armrests. The man pieced together your picture, coaxing some life into the organ on his lap as he lined it up with you directly; you met halfway, with you pushing down on him and him thrusting upward, meeting in a glorious display of desperation and heat, twitching at the heavenly invasion as you met pound for pound inside you, his force hard enough to bounce you off his hips and carrying all the effort while, in your dazed state, you clenched your inner muscles to feel him and all his hardened goodness peaking and puffing inside of you as his thrusts pumped him stiff._

The harder he moved, the more moans seeped helplessly from his body. The mess of precum was unevenly slobbered over his length, each strand racing to pool at his inflexible base; he breathed harder, syphoned harder, arching his back more ferociously at his heightened state of arousal. Nero felt the tiny beads of sweat covering his forehead, his body not being able to contain the fourth degree blister on his lungs. He was finally at his last, baring his teeth as he gripped his hair tightly, teasing his tip with his fingers making it more responsive to his hand, enclosing it and leaping over the final stretch before he completely lost his mind.

 _The twin had somehow flipped you on your axis and made you face him and his gorgeous face, having nowhere to turn as he crashed your lips together; it was sweet and kind, turning famished and impious to your previous inhibitions – his tongue danced to your rhythm, tasting the beginning of his demise as it unfolded within you, forcing your faces together in an act of war. He wrapped your legs around him and thrust soothingly and pedantically, giving both ends the attention they craved. He bit and sucked at your neck, causing a line of red bruises from collarbone to shoulder to rise under your skin for his twin to see. Those deadly blue eyes watched you covered in sweat, the ring of muscles and itch in your erection ready to spurt forth the damage he had done to you – as his last triumph, he held your wrists as he pushed you off his lap to bend at the base of your spine and pull at your arms, creating a magnificent arch as he pushed in deeper than ever before-_

The sweet, sweet release called Nero's name loud and clear, echoing off the right wall and bouncing onto every pore of his frame. A vulgar snarl came from the back of his throat, supressed deep down in his chest had finally come up for air, and what a sound it was: rooted in the pit of his stomach it grew with every advance, every touch, hanging on every one of his words. It fed on the nutrients of your soul, diving into undiscovered, perilous waters that only served to quench as he grew needier with every passing minute.

Nero opened his eyes and marvelled at the material in his mouth, soaked, stretched beyond its limit and hot from his shaky respiration. One last groan from his mouth at the final spurts falling from his tip, he used the edges of the bath to hurl himself up with his dry hand, sitting up straight in the space and admiring his work; his penis was rife with blood, still coming down from his aroused stand-off. He stood, and happy with the lost weight between his legs, he began grabbing pieces of tissue to clean up his mess – along the tiled walls and floor, the rims of the bath, and later the escaping droplets between his legs and on his stomach and his sweaty forehead – and implored that he had not missed a spot. A concluding once over and it was restored to its former luxury.

He rested his head on the tiled wall next to the door and laughed to himself; the coolness of the surface did wonders on his sweltering skin, bringing over a pacifying sensation to subdue his overactive mind. In thought, he came undone; in action, he was reduced to a barely recognisable creature giving in to sin in its wholesome form. What could be worse?


	5. Saturday afternoon

Vergil stood at the elevator doors waiting for Dante to take his normal slow walk past the reception desk and foyer, sifting through his hair for the other residents and visitors sitting in the luxurious couches to turn and gasp, heaving with their chests first and discreetly crossing their legs at the fervour teeming from their abdomens: a turn of the head and an immaculate winning smile was all they needed to activate their inner high school versions of themselves, gaping and salivating over the new exchange student from some far off country and immediately making him the most irresistible piece of flesh on the entire campus. "You wound them, Dante."

The offending brother reached him with eleven pairs of eyes watching his every move. "How so?" He did it again, giving them a full taste of a three sixty review. "For all I know they're staring at us both, or did you somehow forget we look exactly the same?"

The elevator dinged its arrival and opened; the irony of the situation deepening as the twins came face to face to the mirrored wall inside it. "Can we please get upstairs without you starting any trouble?"

They entered and the doors closed swiftly with Dante sneaking in a final wink at the waiting crowd. The stationary lift waited for the mandatory gold key to be inserted in its slot just above the array of elevator buttons; Vergil took it from his blazer pocket, sliding it in and turning ninety degrees to prevent anyone from halting them in their motions to their shared apartment. Anyone hoping to grab it on its way up had a better chance taking the stairs. "You just wanna get to Nero, don't you?"

Dante turned to his brother who was watching the buttons light up as they rose higher and higher between the walls of the block. His face twitched at the mention of the third angle of their peculiar triangle, and his mind flooded in absolute relief at the closing gap and having being held behind two walls as opposed to hundreds of miles separating them. He had never missed his place a day in his life, but could the lonely, added presence have more to do with it than he let on? "It's not a fact of getting to him, but he's been held up in that place all day-"

"A place that was pretty much manufactured for him? I doubt he's dying to crack open a window – don't bibliophiles hate sun?"

Dante stayed in his corner against the mirror, pouting in order to hold back a laugh that may leave them both in stitches. "Aren't you hilarious." Vergil toyed with the key as it worked its magic, allowing for an uninterrupted banter to rise between them. "And yes, we do; the coldness gives us reason to stay in bed, but a sunny day mocks us in our faces, daring us to step into and absorb some good old Vitamin D. That bastard!"

Their eyes locked, and so it began. "In all its yellowy glory a couple million miles away-"

"So far away yet so precious to all life on earth; why must he do his job so well?"

"Damn him to hell. Granted it's already quite hot down there."

"Quite a fit for something as bad as it is good."

A second of silence ensued, an impudent look, and the cackles of laughter resonated inside the lift to penetrate the deepest levels of both heaven and hell, exploding from the most profound pits of their bellies and mingling in a captivating, sacred sound as rare as a blue moon. It was the first in a while, and much needed after an equally petrifying and successful business meeting: as per schedule, Dante did most of the talking, his 'secretary' jotting down and commenting on the bare basics such as time frame and content, and the other brother taking over once more under the heavy-weighted categories that passed with his looks by the skin of his teeth. In the end both sides won, effectively communicating to the author themselves without knowing while he whispered sweet nothings into his 'boss'' ear about things he disliked; it was a plan that got them through every single one unscathed and running with a better deal than Dante had originally bargained for.

Vergil could never get used to the life of tailored suits and hired transportation; not only did he despise the concept of people not wanting a single hair split over effort on his part, but the main ideal behind making the arrangements themselves left him helpless without an exit, heightening his level of susceptibility to a committed level of becoming a fully-fledged hermit and never leaving the safer confines of his apartment. He found his sense of purpose in writing, not needing official publishing as part of the deal for his voice to be heard; it was the tedious knot of fate that Dante chose to unravel, catching a glimpse of his penmanship and being the sole entity in his first ever fan club that they both never anticipated to skyrocket into the global phenomenon it was today.

He was as quiet as he was mysterious, learning the skill of masking every part of himself behind the safe yet translucent veils of his works. Thus, people wanted more and more of what they couldn't have, and Vergil wasn't planning on giving it to them: a simple man who wanted a simple life immersed in books with someone to watch over his shoulder as he flips through the pages, enticed by the millionth read as if it were his first and tiny, butterfly kisses added to the mix, fluttering down his neck and willing for his concentration to dither-

"You missed him, didn't you?"

Wrenching you from the abyss was one of his favourites to use on him. "Dante-"

"It's just a question, Verge. No harm." The invisible white flag sat in his open palms, stretched under the crushing stare from his twin. "I did, and I can admit that; he's a breath of canny, easy-going, insane fresh air – I'm not accustomed to it but I'm sure you feel the same."

"So what you're saying is I have no smell?" Floor sixteen. Nearly there.

"I've been breathing you in for almost thirty two years. I got used to it after the first week." Dante moved to his brother's side, bumping shoulders with him and grabbing his attention. Vergil was the picture-perfect liar when the need arose, but one look into those icy blues and deceiving his identical flesh and blood was in vain. "His potency is richer, invigorating, leaving a taste on your tongue that you crave of more and more, ya know?"

Vergil was now intrigued, shifting his eyes from the glowing buttons and facing Dante head on, folding his arms on his chest and leaning into the wall to his left and making him look guiltily innocent. "No, I don't."

"Oh yes you do. The tension between you two is driving you bonkers."

Vergil looked to the elevator floor and squared his jaw, hollowing his cheeks in chewing at a piece of non-existent bubble-gum; his lidded blues met Dante's with startling clarity, thinking it was enough to convince him otherwise. "There's no tension."

Damn, if looks could kill. "Yes, because two easily compatible and equally obstinate human beings can't seem to find it in themselves to realise how great they would be together if one of them just took that one daring step in striking the match that would lead to a bonfire and the best sex they will ever have-"

"Is there a point to this, Dante?" His expression was a cute and borderline serial killer mix.

Did Dante ever not have a point? Well, yes, but this time he did. The younger moved to the centre of the lift, watching the lights climb higher. "Verge, you're a selfish fucking good luck charm; you can have whatever you want but choose to ignore what's good for you."

Vergil despised the truth, even more so about his own person life and from his brother no less; he kept himself hidden for good reason, but Dante was good at reading him when he closed himself off from the obvious. "Let's just have a relaxing Saturday, okay? No drama, no edging, no you being you."

The doors to Vergil's freedom finally opened, slowly revealing the very isolated corridor. He held out his hand for his brother to exit first and was greeted with a mockingly hurt statue – distraught face with his hand on his chest, like overacting being denied the Oscar he was favoured to win. "Now that hurt."

"I'm glad – now I at least have confirmation you can feel things." Vergil was back, and just in the nick of time; he stood between the metal doors to trigger the sensors holding the doors open while he grabbed his key from its slot inside. The doors shut as they arrived at the door in tandem, with Dante doing the honour of leading the way to their much-missed apartment. The light clicked green and the door slotted out of place, a slice of light shining through the gap in the door.

Dante turned to him before moving, sporting a light-hearted smile catering for two. "Vergil, and I say this with as much love I have for every possible food group on the planet, you have nothing to lose. I get the feeling you seem to think that all hope is lost when you open your mouth-"

Vergil spoke softer, not knowing where Nero had chosen to perch. "Which you have confirmed on several occasions-"

Dante kept his normal tone. "The truth is, I'm damn sure he loves your mouth-"

He spoke softer, an added laughing fit on the back of his throat. "Fuck, he might hear you-"

And cue impossible twin brother mode, speaking louder. "As you've said before this is your territory; he's waiting for your next move-"

"I made one, Dante. You ruined it with waffles." Vergil relocated to the left of the door and pushed it open; Dante bowed in thanks as the previous comment took its time sinking into his brain. Closing the door behind them, they stood in the open plan intoxicated with the smell of peppermint and grapefruit, hoping that following the scent would bring them to their visitor.

Dante had the coffee machine in his sights. "How can anything be ruined with waff-" And the ball dropped: them, alone in his study, walled in and drunk under the spell of literature. "Oh." The coffee machine buzzed louder, drowning out the rubbery bullets he thought came from across the room. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't be." Vergil finally looked his way and squished his entire face at his brother; his tell-tale that it really was okay. "You can make up for it by making me coffee all day?"

Dante smirked, turning on his feet and reaching for three deep coffee mugs. "Speaking off coffee-" He nudge his head behind him, and that was when Vergil heard the miniscule, faint snores deriving from the pair of La-Z-Boys in the north-east corner; Nero lied comfortably with his frame sunken into the smooth, rich leather of the ebony and ivory matching seats – he appeared serene and tranquil, diving deep into his subconscious searching for and immersing himself in the best memory he could find. His arms were wrapped around his body, wearing the new additions to his wardrobe thanks to his brother; Vergil had never seen anyone achieve this level of comfort and he had to resist the urge to clamber into the seat next to him, breathing in his freshness and fruity scent. A picture-perfect moment and definitely one to remember.

Moving closer to him, Vergil sat on the space not taken next to his nimble legs and leaning forward to move some of his clean, soft hair out of his face, a motion which made him stop dead in his tracks: buried within Nero's clutches rested an open book of deep crimson seemingly lying asleep with him – the same book he had seen upon his first visit to Vergil's study. After a lukewarm shower to rinse off any residue he had missed from his previous exploits, he had snuck into the room and plucked the one piece of Vergil he never wished to surface ever again; he made the mistake of having it in full view, not exactly enticing but not hidden either, with the excuse of not having anywhere else to put it. It was still his work and holding it as a prisoner in a desk drawer would eat at his spirit every day. Still, the expanse of the room and its vast collection was more than enough to sway you in directions away from it.

Listening in on Dante's activities in the kitchen, Vergil nervously slipped the book from Nero's grasp and read the piece of poetry on the opened page:

 _Repausare:_

 _Unfeeling above all comprehension,  
The silence warns my mind drifting too close to the darkness  
Calling an unfamiliar name to assist the fading echo in my chest  
Quietly mocking the shadows created by the dreams  
That had long last declined to dust  
Behind my vanishing ennui and sympathy for the unknown:  
I have drowned in a pool of my own tears  
Melted from the ice of days passed, and  
Flowing with the guilt that escaped my psyche  
As I roughened to steel; my soul a crushed diamond in the rough  
Too jagged to be touched;  
Too hard for you to burden;  
Too hard for mankind to sustain._

It was the entry of August twenty first – a day that held no particular significance yet triggered a series of devastating flashbacks as to the book's origin. This wasn't meant to be a book; it wasn't even properly written by Vergil himself. Derived from an unplanned tactic by his one and only brother, Dante had once succeeded in cracking the code for the infamous mini-library and rifled through Vergil's things for absolutely anything new to read. A black, semi-thick A5 covered under layers of prototypes and plot lines for his next series of books was unearthed, breathing in much needed air as he flipped through the pages and found a goldmine; not exactly the first word that came to Vergil's mind upon seeing it.

He closed the book harshly, and with it cancelling the flood of memoirs that were beginning to creep their way back in; Vergil found it hard to smile given the inspiring image in front of him – how much hate could radiate from just one book? A deep heave from the sleeping form broke Vergil from his corrupt enchantment as Nero searched for the anthology on his chest; when no leather graced his subtle fingertips, his stunning blues opened slowly, rubbing some life into his eyes and raising his tired body on his elbows. Nero knew who the dip in the chair belonged to, ogling into Vergil's eyes and instantly regretting it: pain beyond pain laced his face as he shifted the book out of Nero's view, a troublesome feat for both parties. The sleepy man was rendered speechless, too afraid that he had overstepped some boundary not verbally laid out but discreetly known to all inhabitants of the house.

"Is something wrong-"

Vergil pulled the book into his lap, resting his forearms over the red leather cover. "Why this one?"

The look on his face was enough to freeze heaven over yet still holding his composure just enough to still look like one of its residents. "What do you mean-"

"I'm asking you why you chose this book."

Nero was a mass of confusion; this was positively one of the weirdest plot twists he'd ever experience – it was just a book anyway. "To read it?"

"I understand that, but why… this… one?" He tapped with his index finger in tune with his words, the thin leather suddenly rendering a deeper tone under its owner's stress. Never before had Nero seen him more anguished, hostile even, seemingly squashed under the weight of the pages on his lap – the relaxed, self-assured, level-headed man withered in plain sight at once glance at the book, turning paler as if reading a death note written in invisible ink on the cover. "You know what, forget I asked. I'm sorry."

He rose from the chair walked swiftly across the room with it clenched in his hands; Nero tried to follow him, but couldn't keep up with his long, now shaky legs. "Vergil-"

He turned to face him, grief etched on every nook and cranny; a physical manifestation of a broken heart. "I'm just going to take this upstairs; I hope you'll forgive me interrupting your read." One complete sad smile later, he was up the stairs and behind the safe confines of his literary bunker. Nero felt so insignificant, so guilty at what he had done without so much of an explanation; he became angry with himself on no account, more pissed at Vergil for not spelling it out in plain letters for him. That was probably how he did it these days; if that were the case how on earth was Dante surviving?

Enraged with steam and coffee, Nero acknowledged the sudden mood swing and huffed through to catch up with him; why was a question he shouldn't have asked concerning the subject matter, but the uncommon bubble of annoyance growing in his stomach was on the verge of popping into something not worth his time and energy to fester in. He strode past the kitchen , halting at the simple prospect of Dante sipping at a full mug; the twin gestured to one half filled, room temperature for easy consumption. "Are you planning on following him?"

Nero looked at the cup sourly and gave up the mental fight, stopping to grab it for some liquid courage. "I have to – I did something wrong and I need to know what-"

"Would that make you feel better?"

He finished his mug and placed it carefully on the table, feeling completely defeated at his task before he had even managed to conjure a plan for it. Dante's feelings toward it only made it worse. "Not better in the sense of the word, but I need to apologise-"

"You don't know what you're apologising for, Nero." He continued sipping at his coffee, gazing under lidded eyes at the clearly shaken and fake-resolute stance Nero had taken; he was strong and determined, he'd give him that, but all the more stupid in constantly needing to be on Vergil's good side. Dante couldn't predict what would happen if the two of them were left alone while he was in a mood, and the last thing on his mind was having his brother lay a single hand on him.

He finished his coffee and placed it next to the sink, walking around the table and laying a steadfast hand on Nero's shoulder, which the student openly appreciated. "Once that door closes, I can't save you."

Dante squeezed a few slivers of tension from his shoulders. "What happened to you trying to stop m-"

"I can't save you, Nero." His tone had turned serious, resonating with one of the worst feelings Nero masked in his chest; Dante was warning him out of a lost battle before it started, wanting his brother to cool off at his own pace yet knowing that Nero was someone who was able to wrench him out of a possible month long funk of destitution and rage for himself, the flood of once loved, lost, and forgotten coming back to haunt him under his own discretion. Vergil was close to impossible to reason with in his normal mood, and now that it was amplified, he worried that Nero's words stood any chance of getting through to him.

Nero unexpectedly placed his hand on top of Dante's, tenderly reassuring him that he'd do his best to win the fight. "I have to do this-"

"You absolutely don't, but please, don't let me stop you on your quest to clear your own conscience." He removed his hand and squeezed Nero's for good measure, driving home the fact for him to be careful – something so small yet compelling him to want his success even more, regardless of the damage. The goal of the unbridled task was visible in his head with Dante's gesture, feeling the mountain turn into an easier molehill.

Nero walked leisurely up the stairs, making as little noise as possible to not wake the sleeping beast a few feet away from him. The balcony seemed higher, the rails slippery, the doors smaller than their usual size and getting smaller with every tentative step; the air around his head became dense with fear and regret, yet the heaves and the faint beat in his chest whispered to him that there was no turning back. He leaned over the railing to see Dante with another full cup sloping against the kitchen counter.

Dante was planning to stay as close as he possibly could, perking his ears behind him for any sign of anguish or discomfort on Nero's part – his sword was close by, if it came to that.

Nero entered the code for the room, hearing the hinges give way and the door open to reveal an empty room, save for the lone figure sitting behind his gigantic desk: Vergil weighed his head on his fist that rested on the leather chair arm, his right leg expertly and seriously crossed over his left with a burning Yamato on his lap – the sword was engulfed in blue, spikey flames that did nothing to its owner, his face showing no example of the turmoil Nero had witnessed minutes ago. The Vergil he had met one day ago was replaced with a power-hungry warlord, gesticulating the inevitable outcome to anyone who dared cross his path and live to tell the tale; careless, scary, intimidatingly dangerous, Vergil looked too much in his element for Nero to feel any remote comfort in the situation.

Sitting in his chair, he picked the sword up at its hilt, running his delectable fingers down the sheath of the blade with an unwavering stare at the poor boy who wished only to clarify his emotional state. The fire grew at his touch, and what should have been third degree burns was the nonchalant face of someone who couldn't care less at what was about to happen from this point on. "And here I thought Dante would have tried to stop you."

"He did," Nero stepped over the threshold, scratching down his left wrist, "and now I can see why."

The flames died down alongside the intensity of his stare as he stood and walked around the desk to the centre of the room; he held the sword at the mouth of the sheath with his thumb positioned directly underneath the hilt, waiting for the moment to burst in a fit of rage and utilise the weapon for its intended purpose. It had been years since he pledged to never touch it again, and yet how many times had he locked himself in this very room, breaking that oath time and time again in relishing the strength that was drained from him all those years ago? "Do I scare you, Nero?" His left hand drifted to his pocket, playing with a belt loop of the expensive suit. "Your heart is racing so fast – try and calm yourself. This is just a talk, correct?"

At the time of Vergil's eerie movements, Nero slumped to the right of the room, rebuking himself for choosing the side without the exit door. He managed a safe distance between them, knowing the gap wasn't enough to keep him out of possible danger but sufficient to talk him out of his haze. "Vergil, you need to listen to me-"

"I'm so certain that I don't, so I'll do the talking." He stuck out his tongue and flicked his eyebrows up, swinging the weapon aimlessly. "You see, there's a reason I chose that cover to be red; there's a reason I shelved it where it's shelved, close to the bottom so people don't reach for it; there's a reason why it's slimmer than the rest of them." His attention was solely on Nero now, step after step closing the perilous space and leaving him with less time for a convincing argument. "There's a reason he's different, and you blatantly ignored that-"

"So you're gonna get all mean and tough because I read something I wasn't supposed to?" Nero was laughing; at a time like this, he had no choice but to voice the hilarity at the web of events. "Give me a fucking break, Vergil; I literally couldn't care what's secreted between those pages – your name is on it so I'm reading it." It had been a really long time since, but the bridge of his nose now tingled in anger and frustration; he pinched at it carefully, not feeling the bubbling rage halter between his ribcage. "You could have said something before you left and I wouldn't have touched it; did you expect me to not come in here after you gave me the code?"

His thumb clicked at the hilt, a slice of pure immaculate steel on display. "I want you to be in here. There are hundreds of pieces all around you, and you had to pick the one book that was off limits." He cut the centre of his thumb on the blade as it bled on the sheath and its yellow ribbon respectively. "And don't stand there and think your love of books stands as justification for you to read what you please-"

"WHAT OTHER FUCKING REASON IS THERE?" Nero was fuming; he had never been this furious at something so miniscule, and Vergil's wilting demeanour wasn't helping him to feel better – the real Vergil would have used fewer words at his distaste of choice, but the manner he chose to adopt in getting his point across was uncalled for, to the suffering extent where he would pull out all the stops and dig deep to hurt Vergil. "YEAH, I JUST TOTALLY WANTED TO FUCK WITH YOUR AMAZING DAY AND DO SO WITHOUT KNOWING I HAD DONE ANYTHING WRONG."

It wasn't more than a whisper with an equally menacing expression to match; the prospect evolving in front of him should have him running for the hills, but his belief that all would be okay was much tougher. "I strongly suggest you lower your tone-"

"Why? You scared your precious little brother will hear you lose your mind? Let him see you for what you really are: a depressed psychopath who watches others live their lives from a distance and expect to immediately grasp the essence of existence; an empty shell with nothing but a few bones and body organs, thinking it's enough to call yourself human-"

Vergil finally pulled the blade in all his glory, glimmering in the artificial light from the corner of his desk; untainted, heavy, and deathly sharp, the katana was beautiful to behold, even more so under Vergil's command. Nero was entranced by it and its entirety, not anticipating the tip to find its way underneath his chin. He gaped at the blade and followed its intimidating length to where steel met flesh and not showing he was now scared out of his wits. "I couldn't care less what you say about me, but leave Dante out of this-"

"YOU'RE A FUCKING MANIAC!" Nero's voice vibrated down the blade as the cold steel hit his jaw in a spine-chilling feat, causing the rest of his courage to bounce along the blade and be chopped into a million tiny pieces. He burst out in pure dread blended with undeniable fury, meriting a well-earned look of shock from Vergil. He held his breath, fearing it wasn't adequate to wane his focus for a split second for an escape separated by a flight of stairs.

His face quickly melted to insanity at its finest, bringing the blade vertically in line with his skull and his chilling voice at his neck – the blade twitched upward, cutting Nero cleanly and allowing a small trail of blood to coat the weapon. It now turned to a battle of self-control, one that he knew he was going to win, displaying no hint of the sting in the hopes of disarming his opponent. Vergil gently lowered his forehead onto Nero's, using the sword to angle the poor boy's face to his. "Say it again." Quick as a flash his grip on the sword tightened and he twisted it on the spot. He brought his thumb to Nero's lips, spreading the seeping blood from the wound to drip along his mouth and chin. "One more time, say it-"

"VERGIL!"

Nero exhaled, so thankful he chose to leave the door open and equally not caring what Dante had heard; his knight in shining armour stared his brother down for a full minute, watching the agony of Vergil's anger deteriorate under his twin's sad, loving gaze. "Give me the sword."

His arm worked on autopilot and handed it over without indecision. He stopped midway to look at the flecks of blood, bemused at its origin until he looked back to his brother and he nudged his head, forcing Vergil to look directly at the tears welling up in Nero's eyes; he almost tripped over it as he dropped it to the floor, focusing on the deep glaze of solemn panic etched into every inch of his body. Dante took a few steps out of the doorway just as Vergil took his leave, hurrying out of his study and down the stairs; the pair left behind visibly flinched as the front door slammed shut under his enormous strength, enough to shake the apartment and break the overbearing silence between them.

Nero remained pressed against the wall too afraid to move. "I didn't mean any of it."

"I know." Dante scratched the ghost itch at back of his head. "And so does he."

The boy watched as Dante carefully went to the bloodied sword, taking a clean tissue from his pocket and wiping the crimson stain from the precious surface, sheathing it and placing it back on its rightful place securely balancing it between the two protruding rods that served as its shelf. "I…" Nero sluggishly wiped his nose on his sleeve. "None of that was true; I don't know where it came from-"

"Nero, I'm going to need you to breathe, okay?"

A lone tear teetered on the edge of his eyelid, threatening to leap over and taint his reddened cheeks. "I just single-handedly insulted one of the best authors of the twenty first century and you're telling me to calm down?"

"Someone has to." Nero's gaze passed above Dante's shoulder to the other sword which glowed a bright red, just like Vergil's; there were no flames – just a scorching glow as it seemed to come alive at Dante's presence. The twin turned smiling meekly at his personal wonder and needing to pry his cerulean blues to focus at the duty at hand. "I'll explain everything if you let me clean you up and pour you a drink. We are out of chocolate milk so you'll just have to drink alcohol with me."

It wasn't a conversation until Dante made a joke, making sure to only chuckle once Nero felt comfortable to push the incident aside and find it in himself to enjoy it. The boy was grateful, giving him the benefit of the doubt and the bare minimum of what he could muster. Dante handed over his handkerchief to wipe his brother's blood from his lips. "Head to the bathroom. I'll grab the first aid kit and patch you up good as new." Nero made no effort to move. "If you wanna stay here for a few I understand."

Dante left him to his own thoughts, one of the worst possible things he could have done; replaying the last few minutes in his head, Nero quickly ran over everything he had done wrong, the different angles he could have approached in dealing with the author, and what had driven him to the deep state of wrath that he had unleashed on the unsuspecting man. It was in his character to lose focus in a blind fury, but to have taken it to the stage it snowballed into was a mistake on his part, reading too much into Vergil's comments and acting accordingly in his triggered defence mode. Then again, this was all a ruse to convince himself he was in the wrong and point all the blame to him; others were never at fault, and deciding to take the blame and carry it on his shoulders unknowing to the heavy toll it would take just seemed easier than a week-long grudge over something as stupid as the last slice of cake. But this was too much; sliding down to the floor, he hugged his knees with what physical energy he had left and bowed his head, drained of any and all strength to bear any more weight on his weakening frame. No tears this time but he struggled to breath, his chest taking over the work of his broad shoulders; through jagged, uneven breaths he hoisted himself up and dragged his feet to the bathroom at the end of the hall – the door was wide open, and the gentle clinking of plastic told him that Dante was hard at work prepping to piece him back together.

He sat on the edge of the bath, tapping the ceramic next to him. "I promise you it won't hurt."

Nero obeyed. "Doesn't matter; you can make it as painful as you want." The resolute look on his face made Dante want to get this over and done with in as little time possible – he was honest embodied turmoil trying his best to be strong under the hellish circumstance he had just endured. His hands and arms were shaking, and all Dante could do was watch him as he writhed in pain. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"Stop saying you're sorry." Dante dropped his prepared saline solution cotton ball on the sink and put his hands out for Nero to hold; crushing them in a split-second vice grip the shaking stopped with Nero stretching his fingers and making sure he could still control them. "Better?"

He didn't give him time to answer as he tilted his head and dabbed at the cut, cleaning off the excess blood before applying any adhesive. "I can try and make this as quick as possible, so keep your ears peeled; I hate discussing it as much as my brother does, so I can only say what I'm about to say once." Dante dabbed his wound, being very cautious owing to the cut's position. "That book is no ordinary novel of his that you're used to. I don't know how well you know him, but you might have noticed that there was a year not too long ago when he hadn't released anything new."

Nero blinked slowly as if it dawned on him. "The year 2012."

Dante nodded. "The name of the book is 2012: seeing as you're not the type to skip to the back, the book has three hundred and sixty six pages in it, one for every day of the year. It doesn't take the form of a normal anthology because none of the poems in it amount to a cohesive whole." He peeled the adhesive strips on the mini plaster. "The original book was a journal Vergil kept from the beginning to the end of the year, so everything in there is the worst of the worst and the best of the best he had gone through; it's the clearest depiction of how his mind had fluctuated from running through a field of lilies to shuddering in the darkest corners of his mind. He thought he was going insane, the proper insane where he would spend the rest of his days in a room lined in soft, pastel pink cushions." He moved closer, tilting Nero's head to get it just right. "I found it whilst looking for candy – he hides it from me – and when he realised I'd found it he nearly went crazy. I went behind his back and edited each entry, publishing only one copy for him to look at when times are tough, to take a step back that his worst now was never his ultimate worst, ya know? A form of motivation, so to speak. I catch him reading it from time to time, even though he hated it when I first gave it to him." He scratched at the band-aid making sure it was stuck to Nero's skin properly. "And to answer your question, he will never get rid of it; he gets attached to anything I do, regardless of consequence, as you've just seen." Dante packed the odds and ends back into the box Nero only now saw in the bath on his opposite side. "You see, he knows what he is – he just doesn't take kindly to others pointing it out that's all."

His voice was undetectable, even with Dante's hearing. "What I said wasn't true-"

"Yes it was, and his reaction was driven by two things: one, the fact that you said it out loud, and two, the fact that it was you saying it." Dante moved the box to the tiled floor at his feet. "He's never adjusted this well to anyone this quickly, and I'm sure he snapped because he wasn't expecting it to come from you."

Nero's reflection observed him through the vanity mirror to inspect his handiwork and grew disheartened at not being able to recognise the person staring back. "But the sword-"

"-is nothing for you to worry about at this point in time, nor ever." The itch at the back of his head had returned as he twisted his body to face the brooding form. "Give him a couple of hours to cool off and he'll be right as rain. Right now, it's my duty to make sure you're okay by any means necessary." Dante out up both his fists and had a fake boxing match with the man to his left, jabbing him in his stomach and his shoulders, trying to nudge him off the edge of the bath. Nero played along, feigning the most fatal blows to his well-being and led the twin to let out the cutest giggle he wouldn't have expected to hear coming from him.

For the first time since he woke, Nero was finally able to crack a hint of a smile. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Dante nodded ever so slightly, his flowy hair the only evidence that his head had moved at all. "He's a big boy; he's much tougher than me, even if I do say so myself." The confession's audibility was boosted by the tiled walls, boosting the frequency to ensure an incessant journey to the student; he looked more troubled than the fighting pair combined, and was the best at hiding the inner workings of the gleaming cogs revolving inside his mind. Every heave of his torso grew heavy under the stress and worry for his sibling , wracking his brain more over the unfortunate incident and its repercussions in possibly destroying a peaceful, long-lasting friendship with someone of his own calibre. He shoved the thought in the back of his mind when seeing Nero's face, the younger man doing all he could to conceal the massive knock to his subconscious – for someone so vastly intelligent to overthink such an occurrence could prove one step close to fatal, flicking the switch back to planning and rational thought. Nero's knuckles turned white at clutching the ceramic, and Dante soothed over the tight skin with his own, pacifying smile at the ready. "Please don't be sad."

It was Nero's turn to do something unforeseen; he shuffled closer on the cold porcelain, planting his face into Dante's broad, expensive chest; the brash move caught him unawares, much like the earlier coffee-insufficiency in the kitchen and had his arms suspended in the air once more – noticing the unashamed need for physical comfort, Dante wrapped his arms around his shaking frame, crunching the soft hair in his grasp and rubbing gentle, concentric circles on Nero's back; the scene was taken line for line out of the typical heart-stopping moment of a breakup, usually too cheap to relate too and too fake to go unnoticed to the naked eye, but Nero's innocence and outright actions to still his overthinking mind was plenty for Dante to pick up on just how bad he was taking it. "I'm not sad. It just-"

"I know…" They moved closer together; Nero's hand gripped at his shirt in an attempt to hold himself together, and Dante cuddled him into his ribcage hoping to assist him in his objective. The elder closed his eyes as his delicate locks graced his cheek, breathing in the fruity scent of the shampoo he purchased a day prior. His flawless lips whispered on the student's forehead, a signal as vivid as the shuddered breath that left Nero's broad shoulders. "I know."

* * *

Dante and Nero found themselves on the set of comfy couches by the fireplace after copious shots of vodka, none of which had the desired effect of slicing through the tension like a cake knife; no roaring fire, no squeals of joy under inebriation, and no sound apart from the lazy breathing of the smaller man with his head in the twins' lap. Over three hours had passed since Vergil's great escape, and the only fit way to kill time would be for Nero to take it as easy as possible; consequently, his caretaker brewed a fresh pot every half an hour, adding in extra bouts of alcohol to enhance the flavour and Nero's tiredness which he hoped would turn into a nap further down the line. With the second pot came such luck where he sprawled his body on the couch and rested his head at  
Dante's end; before having the wave of sleep overcome him entirely he fetched a fluffy grey comforter from his room and draped it over the boy's form for extra warmth, which in turn helped him drift off quicker.

Grabbing his phone from the table he opened his instant messaging, scrolling to Vergil's name and clicking on the icon showing his brother in happier times. _So, I guess it's pizza for dinner?_

His hopes weren't high for a quick reply, so the soft PING to his left made him jump. _It's Saturday. We always get pizza._

Right. He'd forgotten about that. _Just making sure._

PING. _How is he, brother?_

 _Come home and see for yourself, Vergil._

It was never that easy. PING. _I can't do that. Not yet._

 _Just let it be soon. He's a mess and he needs you here._

He wasn't lying. PING. _I'll make things worse._

 _We both know that bullshit. You lose nothing talking it over; you lose everything in hiding away._

Dante knew he'd got him. PING. _I hate it when you're right._

 _I'm always fucking right. Pull up your big boy pants and storm in here like you have diarrhoea._

Maybe not the best choice of words, but effectiveness was the aim of his game. PING. _Wowzer, aren't you one for motivation._

 _You want motivation? I'll give you some._

Dante clicked the bottom left corner of his phone screen and committed the best crime in the history of his low-level delinquency.

* * *

Vergil didn't know what to make of his last text, and thankfully he didn't have to wait long for it to fall into place: the attached photo of Nero sent his stomach reeling into a rabble of butterflies; the serenity and content etched his face was a sight he never thought he needed, with Dante squinting his eyes and sticking out his tongue in the topmost right corner of the photograph, reminding him that he served as motivation too. Vergil traced the contour of every pixel of the image, admiring the angelic face up close, in awe and to his heart's content; his long eyelashes, flawless skin, and state of utter relaxation, wishing he were a tiny speck of dust wandering into his mind taking a closer look at the dreams that ironed out the last picture he had of Nero in his mind.

A knock behind a glass door woke him from his drunken stupor, high from the ethereal figure on his phone screen. He saw a familiar face behind the pane waving wildly, turning the "OPEN" sign over and opening the door wide for Vergil to enter. "Let's go inside."

Vergil entered with a renowned sense of purpose and waited for the man to close the door and walk with him to the till. "I haven't seen you in a long time."

They shook hands firmly. "It's been a while since I've gotten out, I do apologise."

"No, sir. None needed, but I was anxious you'd found someone with better service."

Vergil gave him a small smile. "No one else will offer me what you can – I'll be coming to you until the day of my death."

The compliment received a hearty laugh from the man, his moustache bouncing with the rhythmed glee. "That's what I like to hear; have you come for the usual order?"

"Not the usual one." He plucked the passage from his phone memory and gave it to him, the man slowly glossing over the intricate details of the instruction. "I was wondering if you could make some small alterations, if you can."

He handed the phone to Vergil. "If I can? You wound me. I will make this come to life, sir. If you don't mind waiting a bit, or you can grab some coffee from next door?"

Vergil looked around and never once noticed the small round tables in the wide-open room. "I'm good, thank you. I'll just be here in the corner then."

The man bowed and Vergil took his seat, folding his blazer neatly over his arm. "I'll get this to you in a jiffy."

If there were one virtue Vergil was known for, it was his patience; he'd wait until the ends of the earth for something like this to be delivered in the peak of its excellence, and with the most skilled pair of hands he doubted anything short of absolute perfection. Vergil had been coming here since the shop opened, impressed at the craftsmanship and the feats he had achieved with the pieces of nature that warped and yielded to his skilled touch, utilising the best of his abilities to mould the concepts and bring them to life before your very eyes.

His mind had begun to drift, formulating lines and lines of a worthy apology to his brother and Nero. There was nothing he could say that he hadn't already said a million times, but the same time this one nipped at his shoulder and neck, chipping away at the charily constructed box he had built for himself and leaving him bare; even if it was just a small crack in his psyche, exposed to outside air head-on would prove more fatal than poison entering his bloodstream. It struck a deep cord, one he may not be able fix with the right words nor wait for the opportune moment to strike; it was bad this time, eating at him like a swarm of starved piranhas with an awful taste on his tongue to match.

The man from before broke his curse, coming to him with the finished product. "Is this what you were looking for?"

Vergil turned in surprise at the miracle presented to him. "It's even better than how I wrote it."

The man handed the see-through acrylic tube over to him which he took with the biggest care. "You seem troubled, my friend."

He let his shoulders slump under the guilt of circumstance. "Like you'd never believe."

The man stood out of the way as Vergil stood, ready to pay and take his leave. "I hope this cheers you up then."

"Oh, it's not for me. It's for someone else."

The man smiled warmly. "Someone special?"

It was gorgeous – Vergil couldn't take his eyes off it. "More than that."

He nodded. "Then I hope he or she falls straight into your bed and at your mercy all night long." Vergil directed a mischievous smile and a raised eyebrow to the owner, tilting his head slightly in amusement. "I may be an old man, but I am still a man, my friend."

His face was an endearing shade of pink, loving the man's brazenness and honesty. "I am deep in your debt; how much do I owe you-"

"Please, keep your money, but if tonight bears fruit, invite me to the wedding." With a gentle squeeze to Vergil's arm, he ventured to the door and held it open for his last customer for the day.

As he left the shop, Vergil unlocked his phone and found Dante's name. _I'm on my way._

The door closed and locked behind him and he waved a tiny goodbye. PING. _Good. I can't feel my fucking legs._

* * *

With the tube tucked safely in his blazer, Vergil reached for his keys in his back pocket, only for the door to swing open and have his own face gape at him in dismay; the draft caused the by the sudden swing endured the length of his spine and the affiliated nerves, sending an unsolicited chill that wracked his warming core, internally crumpling himself into a small ball. "Took you long enough."

Dante stepped aside for Vergil to stride through the threshold but he stayed put; almost forgetting the abominable mess he left behind, he thought it safer to stay where he was in case bumping into Nero proved more excruciating than how he'd imagined. "I walked; fresh air and all."

Silence ensued; the uncomfortable type that was only felt from one side of the conversation and went unacknowledged to the other. Dante spoke from behind the door, forcing his brother into the unsafe abode. "He's on the balcony; he woke up soon after your last message and has been there ever since."

Four tentative steps and he was in. "That was a long time ago."

Dante focused on shutting the door and missed his brother hesitantly sneaking to the sliding glass doors to catch Nero unawares; he looked warm, not bothered by the slight breeze that shook the city out of nowhere, but at the same time frozen from the overshadowed horror he was feeling after the episode a few hours prior. Vergil envisioned the steam emitting from his frame to be a new version of piping fury initiated under the sheer betrayal of someone he thought he held dear and respected with every inch of his being. Dante joined him at the gossamer curtains well-hidden from view, watching Nero breathe deeply and his wide shoulders trembling along with the sentiments he exhaled into the open air. "He hasn't moved from that spot."

Vergil glided his hand across the glass, pausing, and leaving a steamy handprint around Nero's frame. "What have I done, Dante?"

Dante returned to his brother's side with an espresso from the machine. "You've made a mistake, Vergil. One that you will wallow in for a really long time."

They took a sip simultaneously. "I don't know what happened-"

"And trying to explain why is something that he doesn't need to hear, so scrap that from whatever apology you've formulated in that beautiful head of yours." If possible, Dante could see the vapour from his brother's ears at his brain being overworked. "I have reason to believe that sorry won't work either, so you can take that out too. As we speak he has the information he needs; it's up to you to make things right – that and apologising are two different things." Dante had a point. Again. But why was it so difficult? He had written many lines of dialogue with the same subject matter countless times that seemed to make sense, so why were the words not coming to him? Was this what Nero referred to when speaking of him being an empty shell, the ability for him to replicate perfectly yet feel nothing? Being able to watch emotion from a distance and convincing himself that he would act under the same circumstance and can therefore rightfully tick it off the list?

Vergil gave him a once over as his brother raised his eyebrows over the rim of the small glass, willing for an automatic solution to come to his mind at the touch of Dante's button. "I can't change the past-"

"Then change the goddamn future, Vergil. But whatever you do, don't give him the option to go home-"

"But if that's what he wants-"

"Then you sure as hell make sure he doesn't get it. Running away solves nothing." Being the irritatingly persistent younger brother he was, he took the tiny cup from him and pushed him in the direction of the balcony with a firm squash to his arms. "Now you go and be my big brother."

Nero had no reason to turn and check who it was; knowing Dante, he would send his brother here first thing after arriving home, and also because Dante had warned him he wouldn't dare interrupt the metal transactions of a genius – 'you could have been onto something good, and the simplest request for a cup of coffee would derail all your hard work and then I'll have to live with the guilt,' he said, making a beeline for the bathroom as soon as Nero woke. The new presence joining him on the balcony could only belong to Vergil, as mesmerising as it was deadly, as confident as he was a rambling mess, the quiet in the chaos while being as frenzied as the rest. His aura overwhelmed Nero's senses as it did since their first meeting, tangling his insides into knots that could only be undone by his hand, his actions, his words… him. Without so much as trying, the incantation held him rooted in place not willing to move in case it was broken; what had been a mishap of tiny proportions ballooned into the worst version of itself without warning.

They stood on opposite ends of the concrete; Vergil kept his eyes on Nero and nothing else, seeing him watch the sunset as his eyes glinted at the stunning silhouette he made against the red and orange sky. "I've been trying to think of a way to put the blame on me, and it doesn't seem to be working."

His face altered to solemnity – Nero was back in that mindset. "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged his shoulders in tune with the setting sun, trying and failing to hide a sniff. "It's what I always do; I'm always wrong because I'm delusional-"

"You're not-"

"I'm always somehow fucking things over for no reason-"

"Nero, stop-"

"But who can fuck up reading, right? Understanding, yes, but reading? You either know a word or you don't-"

"Listen to me-"

"It all boils down to who's around you when you fuck up-"

"You didn't fuck up-"

"I became greedy; I went against my better judgement to just stay out of that damn room-"

"Nero-"

"Please, I'm begging you, don't do it." He was slowly drifting from his already slacking grip. "Whatever you've been practicing, I really don't want to hear it – because I know it will make me feel better and I need to feel like shit for a little bit longer. You open your mouth and I will hang on your every word: you say everything is going to be okay and I will believe it will whilst internalising all of this hatred for myself and going on like nothing happened." Nero never turned to face Vergil for the outburst; it wasn't directed at him. "I don't want to talk to you, and you shouldn't want to talk to me. Just please, walk back into that perfect apartment into your brother's loving arms and let me stew for a while."

Vergil furrowed his eyebrows as two holes continued to burn Nero in the back. "I didn't come here to talk-"

"Then don't." A shaky hand left his hoodie pocket to wipe his face. "My soul has had enough of you."

Was Nero really going to use his own words against him? This made him smile, a shatteringly gorgeous smile at realising the sole purpose and intention behind him quoting that specific novel. Ironic, too. He visibly flinched at every step taken by Vergil, his throat fiercely aware of the closing distance between them. "I wanted to give you this." The hidden tube came out for air, drifting between Vergil's fingers and finding its way to the rightful owner; he stayed out of view for the transfer, strategically overturning Nero's right palm with his and handing it around his left side, wittingly holding him against his body – a clever move that had Nero noticeably liquefying at his touch. "You don't have to forgive me just yet."

Nero looked down at the tube: a lone, full-bloomed blue rose with the thorns removed with a wire of black pearls twirling on its stem – straight from the same book he quoted previously. He could only stare, unmoving as Vergil encased him in every emotion at once. Nero knew the passage well:

 _"_ _He stepped forward in a love-crazed funk, wanting to reach his love in the quickest time possible; in that moment everything stopped as he came face to face with his own true meaning of life. They looked deep into one another's eyes, both brimming with love and impatience and offered a blue rose in his torn and pierced hands, bloodied by his previous mistakes. It served as a piece of his soul carved only for the sake and indulgence of his other perfect half, promising there was nothing else left. Taking it into pampered hands, they shifted closer. "Swear to me you won't forget." Tears rolled down their cheeks unprepared for the eminent final goodbye. "This will be all I see until the day I get to see you again." They kissed with aching desire – a true end to a short-lived memory."  
\- The Enigma of Worth (2014)_

Nero's hands tightened around the flower with his head bent low; as per their agreement, Vergil planted a kiss on the exposed skin quivering under the softness of his plump lips and heating with gooseflesh upon contact. The bodily warmth escaped in a flash as he turned to an empty space, the curtains from the inside flowing in the wind.


	6. Saturday evening

Seated at the couches over the cackling fire, Nero and Dante chowed down on what he considered the best pizza to date, washing it down with the Amarula milkshakes Dante seemingly conjured out of thin air; Vergil was within earshot, doing dishes and cleaning the house, keeping himself busy from wanting to join the laughing pair. Nero would occasionally turn to him, hoping to catch his eye and invite him to sit with them but such opportunity never came: he was immersed in his task, half-heartedly sweeping and dusting the nooks and crannies of the apartment and accompanying furniture and staying well beyond the boundaries of the bubble of happiness he and Dante had set up when dinner had finally arrived.

They heard him scuffle across the kitchen to grab a plate; Dante had purposely put the pizza that he hated most closest to him, forcing him to invade the bubble and become part of it. Vergil detested taking food upstairs in both his study and his bedroom, and all the tension in his body was pushed out with a hefty exhale as he moved to the lounge and plated a few slices of his supper. The two had kept his chair open for fear of lives and as an open invitation for him to bask in the presently calm environment. "You think the apartment is clean enough, brother?"

He stared rubber daggers at Dante. "I can clean it again if you'd like."

Nero piped in, unaware of the brotherly banter and thinking Vergil was really going to spring clean the apartment for a second time. "I can help if you want." What neither of them caught was the yearning in his voice to want to be alone with the man; not to talk about today and not to reminisce or reflect on the bad, but not seeing him for a majority of the day did an unspeakable number on him – he missed Vergil so much he couldn't explain it; from the afternoon to him storming off and disappearing on the balcony and now all over the house so fast neither him nor Dante could keep track, it exhausted him to the furthest degree of anger that he suddenly wanted nothing to do with him. Given the circumstances it was understandable, but saying he craved his company out loud wasn't a luxury he had yet rightfully earned within the household.

"It's okay, Nero, he's just mocking me." He went back to quietly eating his dinner. "I think I'm going to have an early night. I haven't finished your assignment and-"

"Assignment?"

Hearing Nero's voice was agonizing heaven, and he couldn't grant him the courtesy to look him straight in the eye just yet. "To keep the juices flowing, Dante sets assignments for me every weekend. He wants me to get better at writing so he has less to edit-"

"And it's working; even though you are a brilliant writer your thoughts are too jumbled. Staying on a straight path does wonders for me, Vergil." He drank the rest of his milkshake in one gulp, placing his empty glass on the table and sloppily grabbing another slice of pizza. It was too good.

Three cheesy slices down and Vergil stood, flicking the flecks of gluten onto his plate; he walked to the kitchen and left his plate in the sink, walking back across the back of the couch – he thought he could handle it but the remorse still loomed heavy on his head as he watched Nero continue on as if nothing happened, chewing the stringy goodness alongside his brother. As good as the pizza was, he couldn't help but think back to the lasagne the previous night and stealing a glimpse at him enjoying it so much more. He thought he was in the clear passing his brother on the way to his room, but a smaller hand wrapped around his wrist whereby he stopped suddenly – no shrug, no look, but a blatant stop and keeping his face onward and afraid of what came next. "I don't think so."

Vergil's shoulders dropped at the steadfast confidence in his voice; he wasn't going to win this and he hadn't bargained to. What he had hoped for was Nero backing out at the last second giving him ample time for the escape, but he knew in the back of his mind the boy was too finicky to let it mellow over in smooth silence. The shuffles on the couch made him turn, observing the student from a distance kneeling on the puffed cushions. "I can't let you do that. This is your house; I know you want to and I will respect that." Nero regained his balance on the unstable foundation. "But please don't go." He looked straight into his soul as he pleaded with his conscience to stay, begging at the brink of his limited influence over the towering form he held dear in his grasp.

The bigger man turned, tackling the obstacle of being stern to a face that pleaded with his heartstrings from start to finish. "It's just a few minutes-"

"I don't care – the assignment can wait."

Nero's heart leaped in his chest as Vergil dragged his feet toward him, raking his fingers through his shiny silver hair and offered an unscripted, ceaseless view of his flawless face; he stood in front of the student still below eye level as he courageously returned his stare whilst having Nero's heart melt into the spongy goodness below him. "I'm literally walking up a flight of stairs. I'm not shutting anyone out, I'm not locking any doors, I'm not avoiding anything – let me get comfortable in that room again, and I promise I'll be down here in no time, okay?"

He wasn't one to give up; they both needed him down here, and asking Dante was too easy of a win. "Vergil-"

"Later, Nero," he moved closer, their mouths separated by a hair's width with Vergil's hand softly caressing his cheek and jaw, "-or would you prefer to do this in front of my brother?" He opted for the safer route, brushing his lips along his strong jaw as Nero remained fixed to his spot, lightly clutching at Vergil's soft grey t-shirt to control the urge to jump over the back of the couch. His hot breath prickled on his skin the further it traversed to his ear, biting across the fleshy shell that made him grip tighter at the material. "I can't be near you right now. I hope you can forgive me."

Nero could feel it coming; Vergil was being too careful until now, and the soft, sweltering kiss to the base of his ear sparked a flurry of stomach acid butterflies scattering over the flux of his escalating heartbeat. "I can, but I won't."

A deep chuckle nestled in the back of Vergil's throat, like fresh milk and honey running down his neck, leaving a sticky trail of heightened need and hatred. "I'll make it up to you." Nero held his breath as the warmth left him, replaced with Vergil's divine stare as he waited for a response. Their roles switched instantaneously: the wolf in sheep's clothing bearing his fangs for his innocent prey to succumb to his every word and thought, and the incredulous shift of power left Nero speechless at his touch. Vergil had returned, topping off his comeback by rubbing their noses together with a smile so handsome, so ground-breaking that Nero failed to remember that the man was currently in another state. He left a panting, frenzied man on the couch, finally taking the leave that wasn't needed.

"And where the hell is my kiss?"

And here he thought he was home free. "Is that what you want? In front of him?"

Nero hadn't moved from the previous onslaught and his eyes dared to look at anything else. The revelation unfolding before his very eyes was something you watched with your mind closed and your mouth open. "Why not? He doesn't seem to mind."

Vergil was not in the mood to be teased; if they were serious, there was nothing that would stop him. "Dante, now's not the best time-"

"Now is the perfect time." The twins had not expected it from him: their heads snapped in his direction with wicked smiles fondling their way to their faces, clearly knowing that what was about to ensue was something he could never anticipate. The very foundations of his world were going to rock wildly and swing out of bounds he never knew existed. "Your brother asked for a kiss, Vergil."

What else was there to do? With two pairs of striking blue eyes staring Vergil down, how could he say no? "Okay; you asked for it." Nero lumbered closer to Dante as the twin raised his legs and dug his heels into the ledge on either side of him, leaning his head flat on the back of the couch; the elder twin stalked to him, doing the unparalleled and fluffing his slicked-back hair forward – there were some things he'd prefer for Nero to experience for himself. The student now gaped at two Dantes, one in white and one in grey, wearing the same pair of black, loose-fitting sweatpants that spoke volumes to Nero's inner sex demon. Vergil bent forward and crashed their lips together under the veil of his long hair; all Nero could see was Dante's succulent jaw as he pursed his lips for a few pecks from his brother, and not before long had the movements become long and deep, erratic against the slick notions of his tongue – or rather, their tongues – inside his mouth.

They took their sweet time exploring one another's mouths and all the accompanying pleasures that came with it; the biting, the nipping, the sucking, the deep-sated moans that came from them respectively, with Nero observing just how truly in sync their bodies were – Dante's hands snaked to the back of his brother's head, being careful not to reveal too much about the war engaging between them; Vergil's hands fell to the contours of the body below, feeling his way down to the swell growing and pulsating between his legs; Dante was first to moan deeply in his throat as Vergil's movements became less predictable with every stroke, the fuzzy material creating delicious friction against the stretching skin of his erection. The roughness of the diverse textures mixed with his brother's adverse knowledge of what made him tick took him to the edge faster than he'd imagined, fixating rather on Vergil's mouth than the mouth-watering sin being committed on his penis. He clawed at Vergil's scalp, an unfair warning that he needed to move faster; his brother required no second telling, abandoning the material for a more hands-on approach and dipping into his waistband, the vivid outline of his hand wrapping around Dante's hardening manhood on full display for Nero to see. He moaned into Vergil's mouth, the hollow echo sounding delectable against the walls of the apartment, escaping his body at a moment's notice. His chest couldn't keep up with the insatiable pleasure on both ends and chose the lesser of two evils, parting from Vergil's lips to watch his liquid sanity inch further and further for their eminent discharge out of him.

Dante could feel it coming, and boy was it deadly. "I… I think he's… had enough, Vergil…" He did nothing to stop Vergil in his tracks, fearing that his hand in the mix would only make things worse. "You… you need to stop… before I re… redecorate this entire lounge…" The elder had heard him loud and clear; Vergil left a miniscule trail of bites from his cheek to the crook of his neck, sucking hard on the exposed flesh his brother allowed him to wander. His activities below slowed a notch, but not enough to completely quell the infernal phoenix that rose with every passing second. Dante caught him by the wrist, more than ready to cut the ties that barely held him together. "I'm… I'm serious, Verge-"

"Okay okay, fine!" Vergil followed the trail of breadcrumbs back to Dante's mouth, gliding strongly on his member one last time. "But let him see it just once?"

Dante smiled into the kiss, raking the long silver locks into their usual place and providing the student with a view unlike any other: Vergil was gentle and deep, alternating between long and intense strokes with mild licks to his brother's lips, obviously showing off how good he was with his mouth. One last tug with Dante's bottom lip between his teeth capped off what Nero would dub the best five minutes in history, burning it to his memory bank for the sake of humanity. The elder gathered his hair in place once again as Dante raised his head off the couch, both ogling him with dilated pupils. "You did ask, so-"

Nero's entire frame reflected the physical itch he wanted both of them to scratch; he was sitting on the couch with the blanket barely draped over him with his knees squeezed firmly together, his eyes nearly falling out of their sockets out of extreme overuse and exposure – he fought hard to keep his composure in front of the twins who clearly didn't care about anything other than their raging hormones, a snow-globe effect of disastrous lust twisting him from the inside out until they slipped through his toes, curling as he once again replayed the jaw-dropping display of craving to the finest degree. They had devoured each other as if starved from stimulation, only looking for their thirsts to be quenched by the other of equal verve, yearning for the perfected touch of a familiar and the strength to lose themselves within the confined box of their sanity. If that was what it felt like to watch, how exactly did Dante find it within himself to stop it?

"I think we broke him again." Dante had found his voice. "He looks so cute when he's turned on."

Vergil kept his eyes on Nero, kissing his brother on the cheek. "You think he's turned on?" Those pupils made him look like a demon; an exquisite, hankering incubus who had just finished an evening snack and left them both satisfied. "He's nowhere close, Dante." He splattered a messy on peck on his brother's lips and earned another content moan. "Now if you don't have any other requests for me, I shall take my leave. Nero?"

He shook his head. "Not right now, no."

Vergil put his hands in his pockets after fluffing his hair, a stance that rivalled the statue of David. "Dante?"

The twin's hair was matted to his face with his lungs putting in overtime to bring him back to reality. His position – all bunched up on his seat heaving treasured air in his strong, masculine, toned chest and calming a raging erection by will alone – made Nero lick his lips in hunger at his afterglow. "What?"

That cruel, arrogant, unforgiving sneer made its way back to enhance his already devilish features. "Then I'll see you both in a few." All Nero saw in his blind spot was the pink fluff of his slippers make their way up the spiral staircase, too fixated on what chaos had brought Dante to his knees. "Oh, and Dante? When you're… ummm… done, would you mind turning the machine on for us? I think we're going to need it."

Five beeps and a frail thumbs up later, Nero moved quickly to his side. "Are you okay?"

Dante turned his head to face him, and Nero knew he'd never look at him the same ever again. "Did you not just see what happened?"

"Well, yes but-"

"So what makes you think I'm not okay?"

He was still in trouble. Goodness, what did Vergil do to him? "Because you look like you need seven red bulls."

He nodded with his face in his hands, hitting and tweaking his cheeks to wake himself up. "Close. Maybe eight would do the trick." Dante triumphantly stood and held his hand for Nero to take, choosing not to do anything with his sex hair; he could barely see Dante's eyes through the soft strands, but he could sense that whatever was behind them was a sight he'd never want to see. The twin wore his heart on his sleeve, utilising little of his time to hide what he was feeling and enjoying the life of transparency through every facet of his life; he was more intense than his brother in every way, whether it be something as dreary as shopping or cleaning their massive pool, watching his face change from disgust to sincerity was engaging and fun. Neither of those two would be evident in his strikingly blue orbs now; Nero was afraid that what he concealed would turn his world on its axis. "Come on, let's make some coffee."

Nero was pulled into the kitchen by the energy he thought Dante had lost. "Wait, both of us?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna teach you a secret recipe and then maybe he'll let you get the book back and finish it."

His hands were so soft, so inviting; maybe it was the aftermath that hovered in the air and intoxicated Nero at the same time. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

"When did I say it was?" He grabbed the plastic jug standing next to the machine and filled it with water which he poured into the stainless steel monster. "But if you're anything like him, I know anything unfinished will eat at your brain until the day you die, so let's make that our aim for tonight okay? I know that the book jumped to the bottom of your to-do list after what you just saw, but let's start small." He reached for the cupboard directly above him housing the beans for the filter coffee. "Also, as a disclaimer, I might accidentally touch you inappropriately because Vergil is still in my system."

Dante tore at the film packet with his teeth still woozy from the hit to his bloodstream. "I'll try my best to keep myself together then."

The most menial of tasks seemed more than challenging to the man; Dante really couldn't function properly, and it was as mystifying as it was stunning to behold: here he was, a man of physical vigour with a rugged body as evidence, a no-nonsense force to be reckoned with, brought to his knees by the effectiveness of a talented handjob? What potent drug had Vergil secreted from the palm of his hand for Dante to be reduced to a pile of horny, chaotic disarray? "It's not a no – I'll take it."

Oh, Nero was going to milk this. Dante handed him the bag. "First, you want to add the right amount of the granules into the device, and you wanna use that measuring cup to measure out exactly three quarters of the bag-" Nero moved in front of him and poured the brown sustenance into the cup, doing as he was told, with an extra arch to his back; each of his moves caused unnecessary friction on Dante's member, and he was oblivious to it at first. "You wanna pour that into the compartment just above the pot-" He stood on his tiptoes and followed orders as a sliver of skin showed from under his t-shirt just above the waistband of his purple cottons. Dante was awkwardly standing behind him, observing his lean yet strong build and how the pyjamas hugged him and showed off something he would openly dig into, but the jig was up; there was no reason for him to stand so far away from the machine, and after low-key appreciating his effort, he had very reason to play along. The bigger man stepped irrevocably close, his hardening penis wedging between his cottony clouds of marshmallow. "Yeah, just like that." His hands were on Nero's hips and whispers at his ear. "Now, turn in on at that switch." Neither was planning on backing down; he bent forward and turned it on, the faint buzz of the mechanic inner workings bringing all their hard work to life.

Dante pressed him into the counter, laying his hands flat on either side of him. Resting his head on his shoulder, he wondered how much of the next instruction would sink into that impressive brain of his. He tilted his head slightly to the right so Nero's ear got the full blast of him on his best game. "While we're waiting for the coffee to brew, you're gonna grab the milk from the fridge and fill that small metal container to the brim for the froth." Dante moved slightly backward, allowing Nero to feel his entire length on his bouncy behind. "You're going to add a tiny bit of sugar to it-"

"Vergil doesn't take milk or sugar."

Nero was fighting it – perfect. "Tonight he is." The slight waver to his voice showed he was losing his cool. That confident exterior was fading exponentially. "Now do that before I tell you the next step-"

His lip was caught in his teeth as Nero escaped his blockade, purposely sliding underneath his arm and along the throbbing ache between his legs. "And what is that? Add the milk to the coffee?" He was at the fridge innocently plucking at the creamy substance, carting it with him as he carried out the same action and filling the metal frother. Dante dragged his lip out of his mouth; he was good. Dante was better.

The coffee pot was almost filled to the top with the last few dregs of the water dripping through to be filtered. "You're gonna add the coffee to the milk." Nero was blocking the cutlery drawer, which was the textbook position for him to grab for a spoon with the wrong hand, brushing against Nero's own troubles hidden with the flimsy fabric. It was small and slow, the genius only realising what he was doing until it was too late. "Amateurs." With the closing of the draw was his drawstring undone, relying solely on the width of his hips to keep his bottoms in a safe place.

With all the components brought to the opposite counter, Dante held his hand on Nero's for proper assembly; this was going to push it, but he needed to learn what happens to anyone that dare play his game better than he did. "You want to cover the bottom with milk and measure out how much you'd need owing to the mug's size." He was speaking, but nothing was getting through to him; the hot air on Nero's neck was inebriating, soaking into his skin and sending chills down the rest of his body. "I usually go up to here and then fill it with coffee." The bigger man's hands were helping him along the first few instructions until Nero regained his psyche, in which Dante would engage full attack mode. Unfortunately for the twin, his brain was his strongest muscle and attack mode would be arriving quicker than he planned; Nero was careful throughout the entire process, leisurely dispensing liquid cocaine into the milk until it reached the top. "Scoop out the foam however you wish and top it off with cinnamon." The easiest way to distribute the foam was to let it rest at the top, and Dante made sure that it was the hardest thing he'd ever done; Nero went for the container close to him and dug out the foamy remnants of the milk at the same moment Dante chose to explore his bare chest under his shirt – his lukewarm fingertips caressed the supple skin on his torso, adding fuel to the fire that burned up his throat and called for air through his gaping mouth. "Vergil loves cinnamon."

Dante was impossible. "You can pour all of that in; just take it slow." His hands moved to his back, hiking his shirt midway up his abs and clawing down the muscles of his back. Nero hadn't even started his task and was rendered immobile by the twin, feeling his way on unadorned flesh and bone over perilous, slick terrain; his big hands traced petite circles on his shoulder blades to calm him, noticing the student had given up with his objective for the sake of his will to remain standing. "Come on, you can do it."

Nero was spent, and although he knew he'd lost this round, he'd figured he'd go out on a bang. He was so wrong: he steadied his hands on the frother gathering the foam at the bottom, scooping the last few clumps of airy cream. "Just like that." And down he went, digging his fingers into Nero's back and dragging downward, slowly but surely building up a deep whimper that Nero dared to hold back.

"More…" The white matter dripped into the mug, staying afloat. Dante was on his ribs, twiddling his fingers on the prickling skin. As much as he hated to admit it, seeing Nero's body this responsive and acknowledging him turned him on, sparking the torturous result left by his brother once again.

"More…" He traversed down his shapely hips and dipping his thumbs dangerously behind the cotton rubbing along the edge of his waistband; his victim held the apparatus at an angle as he shut his eyes and leaned into Dante, his unoccupied hand finding the other hanging care-free over his pyjamas. Their lungs were in sync, heavy under lidded eyes and untouched fantasies from the pair so willing to dive in headfirst to what may probably be the ultimate sacrifice of moral integrity known to man.

"Almost there…" Dante pressed into him again, ghosting his lips on the soft skin at his shoulder and neck – Nero virtually made it easy for him to roam as he pleased, yet he fought with his impulses in going against the grain of his practiced ritual, merely seeing how far Nero would allow him to go. His answer wiggled against him, immersing himself in what he had to offer with wide open arms and hanging his head low over the completed product.

Feeling the need to take over from his brother, he bit at the exposed skin on his neck, yielding the mental block stopping him from indulging too much; Dante grazed his teeth on the smoothness, trailing his tongue on the raised, red flesh to which Nero immediately fell forward and just about caught himself on the granite. "You win." He was too scared to open his eyes. "I can't anymore."

Dante's long hair was a blessing; if he'd seen what was going on behind them, the whole plan from the previous day would be for nothing. But why quit now? Nero hadn't moved since ripping from him – leaning forward the twin brushed his hair to resume its natural style, halting at the centre of his scalp and gripping tiny tufts at the slightly moist roots. "Playing me at my own game is an immediate loss for you, Nero." He tugged at the strands gently and Nero obliged, picking himself off the cool counter to find Dante's mouth on his earlobe; he opened his eyes in stark clarity, seeing what he'd been missing the past two days. "But if you weren't his, you'd be mine all over this fucking kitchen."

It clicked like a rusty, unused cog in his brain; Dante moved the steaming mug in his sights and took it upon himself to sprinkle a bit of the spice on top. "Now be a good boy and take it up to him."

Nero hadn't yet tuned back to reality. "Just like this?" He wasn't referring to the drink.

"He'd appreciate it more that way." Neither was Dante. Although he had stepped aside to no longer interfere, Nero took his fair share of punishment like a champ; the least he could do was help him to a presentable level, retying his drawstring and moving a few strands here and there. "Deep breaths Nero, deep breaths."

The mug wasn't spilling, but to say he held it still was another category of discussion on its own. "That's easy for you to say."

Nero, turning, was finally ready to deliver the hot muddle to Vergil. "Indeed it is, Mr-trying-to-clean-the-bathroom-completely-forgetting-that-your-scent-still-hovers McStuffyPantsLiterally." Dante did the same, giving him a well-earned spank on his butt.

The student had to muster enough courage to look like a threatening hamster, miraculously not spilling a drop onto the immaculate floor. "You dare say a word-"

"I smelt it first, so no can do." Vergil hovered over the handrail resting on his crossed arms with the corner of his mouth clamped between his perfectly-straight teeth. Nero was so engrossed in his perfect features that he nearly wasted an opportunity of basking in Vergil's unclothed chest at a safe distance; he stopped dead in his tracks when he came to, knowing he'd seen it before but feeling it in his knees all the same, following the outline of every muscly piece of skin his conscience would permit – was there ever an unflattering angle on these two?

Vergil stood to his true height as Nero passed directly underneath him; he was a mysterious, binding, embodiment of all nine levels of hell squished into one magnificent specimen of raw sensuality and intellect, exuding his masculinity into the open air with the atmosphere not having a clue what hit it. He was in the clear at the base of the stairs tackling each one at a time. "What did you do to him, Dante?"

The younger twin shrugged. "I showed him how to make coffee."

He made his way to the top and they met halfway, two inner fiends communicating through their lines of vision and the hand on the small of Nero's back. "Is that all?"

"I started it, so it's my fault-" Nero drew a deep breath at Vergil sliding his hand over his hip, hidden by their positions and – of course – his stupid pyjamas. The twin was blank as he drank his coffee and gave him the side eye, smiling into the liquid.

"See? Deep breaths do help," he heard from below before Dante scurried off behind the kitchen away from view.

Vergil waited for Nero to speak. "I'm guessing you want the book now." He took another sip while Nero took his time to look at him; it was adorable to watch him flutter in and out of Dante's enchantment. "I'm a man of balance, Nero – Dante knows I can't accept your coffee without something in return. I assumed it would be the book." He left Nero to his calling, knowing there wasn't much he could do to stop him; the student was an unstoppable force when it came to his love for literature, and it didn't seem right to have left him the way he did. Upon reflection, maybe walking away wasn't the best solution to the whole incident, starting it in the first place. It was his fault – all of it – and he hoped forgiveness was on the cards for the night. "You know where it is."

His blazing hand left him to his errand and Nero ran through the open door, collecting the book from the very same spot it sat hours prior. Looking at it now, he couldn't ignore all the signs Vergil spoke of: dark corner, far down for even the fittest of people to want to reach, squashed between two of his biggest-selling bestsellers to date. It was tiny in comparison to the literary monsters scattered around the room, but as Dante had said before, getting Vergil to get rid of a book – done by his brother no less – was as impractical as spreading honey on a bee to enhance its flavour. He touched the rich leather between his fingers looking for his place and found it: the entry of August twenty first would forever haunt him as the few lines that turned his beloved dream into a rampant nightmare, living, breathing, and twining through the lines that mockingly stared at him in all its unbelievable beauty.

Nero exited the study with Vergil on the same spot, his bulging arms and back muscles not obscuring his visible unease. "Thank you."

He glared at the wall; seeing the disgrace in his untainted grasp was not an image he wanted burned to his subconscious. "It a pleasure, Nero; I can't guarantee it will be worth the trouble it caused-"

Nero raised a hand to stop him. "Do you know why I want to finish this, Vergil?" He forced the writer to look at him before continuing his explanation, holding the red leather close to his chest. "Because a person like you deserves the world, and I think that it would be less of a burden if you give me the opportunity to share your emotion with you: your sorrow, your happiness, your sadness, your joy, your hunger, your passion, your heartache, your essence – I want to be part of that and become so consumed I can't get back out."

He shyly dropped his head and watched his feet; Vergil quickly inched forward and lifted Nero by the chin, regaining the connection and linking the flow of electricity once again. "Go on."

The older man almost winced at the small round Band-Aid, but he wouldn't let a speck of dust interfere with the precious moment they were about to share; he made sure Nero focused on him and him only, his eyes drawing him into that resolute state of hypnotic, unflinching desire bent only by the fabric of time. "I want to be next to you, feeling what you feel and offer you as much as you need from me as a reader; whether it be an ear to listen or a hand to hold, I want to give you what you want me to give, to feel what you want me to feel while I flip through these pages, fighting with myself to want to relate to every single passage scripted by your hand, seeing the pictures you paint with every brushstroke and admiring for what it is and not what others claim it to be." Vergil tilted his head as he spoke, the vaguest hint of a smile on his impeccable mouth. "This is you, through and through; is it selfish to want to know you better than the next person? Probably, but I will never get this chance again. Let me go where you don't want anyone to venture; let me become obsessed with you, even more than when I passed through that front door. Let me into these secrets of yours, Vergil; let me taste you amid these covers, savouring the belief of what ecstasy really feels like."

The words flew at a slow enough pace for it to penetrate through Vergil's skull, bringing forth a new light from which to view the five-year-old chip on his shoulder; Nero wasn't reading it for his own pleasure but for Vergil's, seeking the ruin of his spirit and beseeching a better understanding of him through his hardships – there was no way to accurately judge without knowing a being at their lowest of the low, and that was the journey the student wished to embark on. Such a troubled soul was bound for repulsion and gore so graphic blood seeped out of the sheets of paper, but looking at the tall work of art that currently held him in place by two cerulean glowing orbs it was a no brainer. Vergil was shattered and then built back up piece by piece with the details of each account between Nero's very fingers.

Vergil looked at him in silence for sixteen seconds too long and Nero began to feel shy, blushing under his beautifully crushing gaze. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

The flow was back and they both caught on. "I don't know if I'll be able to stop you."

His hand moved from his chin to the back of his head, threading his digits through the velvety fibres. "A theory worth testing-"

"Later." How Nero was still standing was a mystery to both the living and the dead. "I have a book to finish." Should his feet have indicated some form of movement at this point? Perhaps.

"Humour me." Vergil stepped forward, and still no hint of progress from the student. "I swear you won't feel a thing," and before he was offered the prospect of overthinking, lips found lips in a wave of heat and seduction, melting Nero from his crown down to the tips of his toes. It was a small peck; nothing extensive or deep, yet the pair found it equally difficult to break apart at their own unanimity. The twin crunched his hair and tugged lightly, feeling a noiseless gust of hot air enter his mouth as they separated in gradual regret; Nero timidly pecked him a few times, unready for it to end just yet.

Vergil took it upon himself to wrench away for the sake of his bedroom being too close for this to be a remotely romantic evening; he walked backward to the threshold of his study with his sanity hardly intact, that gorgeous lustful face returning to its former glory. "You know what they say: the more a thing is perfect…"

"…the more it feels pleasure and pain." Nero had one more smile in him as he left the balcony watched by two profoundly selfish orbs, the decrease in temperature as he ventured more out of their view. It hit him at the base of the stairs, the consequence of living in the moment raining like a ball of thunder on his brittle bones as he barely recuperated his balance on level ground.

Nero held the book to his chest, crossing the open plan to his room and almost missing the creature in his blind spot. In all fairness, they both nearly missed one another – Dante was busy constructing a pizza spectacle too tasty to notice anything else and glanced up at just the right time, catching the red leather cover in his arms; he cleaned his hands on a paper towel and jogged around the counter for a high-five. "And hurry. I can't stand him brooding anymore."

 _Tell that to the man with the assignment, Dante._ "I'll try."

Unsure of what he had heard, Nero had an extra spring to his step manoeuvring to his room, noting that August twenty first was his new favourite day of the year.

Dante heard all of it, shaking his head and rolling his eyes at the spot on the small ceiling directly above him.

* * *

Nero closed the book, sealing with it his second emotional rollercoaster for the day, hoping it was his last for the rest of the weekend. He now understood why it was under wraps, comprehending the turmoil from both Vergil penning some of the worst things known to man and Dante having to edit and relive his brother's experiences, walking half a mile in his shoes and becoming the other half of his existence in trying to fill in the gaps to attain a deeper meaning for his sibling's anguish. His respect for the man rose to the highest number on his Richter scale; it must not have been an easy task to relay Vergil's complex, confusing, and intricate thoughts for mere humans to fully appreciate, plus the immersive factor of being on the forefront for getting the material out for audiences to read openly is an obstacle he chose to face and was damn good at.

He heaved himself off the bed with the leather weighing heavy on his chest, sneaking out of his angled room and through the dark lounge that didn't seem as dark as he remembered; the buzzing noise of the coffee machine sent him on high alert, racing toward the kitchen to find a heavy-eyed Vergil wandering aimlessly around it. He opted for his shirt this time as the night was chilly, working through narrowed, sleep-infested eyes for a caffeine dose. Nero dropped the book on the counter, making the bigger man step back at the sudden shock to his ear canal and the relief at seeing a familiar face – Dante was nowhere to be found, possibly asleep and snoring in his comfy bed, as Nero's mind drifted at the situation: they were finally alone – the one thing that took over thirty six hours to achieve. "Whatcha doing, champ?"

Vergil's hair was erotic chaos, with few of his fringe strands in place along his head but the majority of them pointing in every direction, like a pair of fingers stimulating the roots reaching a sensual climax under the command of his talented mouth. "Tryna make coffee, but everything is against me today." Barefooted and provocatively vulnerable, every heavy step bothered him; from the granules to the water, he grew more and more agitated with the arduous process of his liquid lifeline yet knowing that a fresh pot was going to do him the world of good. Nero spectated atop the corner of the counter with the book next to him, swinging his legs freely and openly mocking the struggling twin – he noticed the feat with the complementary satisfied smile and walked toward him, uncaring of the complaining machine a few steps away. "You think you're cute, don't you?"

"I like the word adorable, actually." Vergil held back a giggle, resting his forearms in either side of Nero's thighs and his head in his lap. "Compliments the skin."

He raised his head at the boy with the sweetest and most gorgeous expression Nero had ever seen; sleep did wonders for the novelist, making him dreamy and fuckable at the same time, taunting Nero to the furthest depths of his psyche to hold himself together and not 'accidentally' expose the throbbing between his legs too soon. "It does, does it?" He was so close; so damn close Nero could taste him in the air he breathed right down to the curve of his fantastic mouth – all he had to do was lean forward and be introduced to a brand new world of pleasure, rendered helpless by a simple kiss from the man who had him twisted on his finger since the first page. His stare was deafening, pleading with his soul to lose the grip on all logical insight for the night and be led by the growing impulses that Nero needed fulfilled. Vergil took it in his stride, inclining his forehead against the other for a much desired and well-deserved craving smooch strong enough to wean him off coffee for a month. The student managed to snap him in the nick of time, placing a tentative finger at the corner of his lips. "I have a confession I have to make before things get uncomfortable."

He remained where he was to not give Nero a way out. "What could make me uncomfortable?"

Vergil saw the sombre look in his eyes and stepped back to give him some breathing space; he parted his legs somewhat, slithering into place and massaging his upper legs to reassure him that he could say whatever he pleased. "I… ummm-" A deep breath. "I-" He squeezed his eyes shut finding buried valour between his eyelids. "I've never…" He cleared his throat. "I've never kissed anyone before." Nero's eyes lowered to his lap transfixed on the other pair, keeping his eyes from rolling to the back of his head at how it whirled at his scorching touch.

He was being too cute for his own good. Vergil tilted his head and ventured to the gap at his tummy, gazing upward and catching a glimpse of the blushing student. "You kissed me earlier-"

"Properly." It was the elder's turn to be charming. "The melt-in-your-mouth kind; the one that makes you second guess ever decision you've ever made; the kind that makes you want to light fireworks in your living room; the kind that makes your heart scream out of your chest; the kind that makes you invincible, believing you can conquer everything you set your mind to." Unwillingly, his hands went to Vergil's neck, touching one hundred degree flesh. "The kind that makes your body go limp with never wanting it to end."

Nero knew what he was talking about, but to know and not experience would hang over your head until it eventually happened; expecting the world without the knowledge that the faraway land of bad kisses truly existed. "That's all?" Vergil almost laughed but for another reason entirely – all he'd wanted to do since their first meet was ravage the insides of his mouth with no mercy: who would resist such an ethereal form? "How about this?" He wedged himself deeper, his hands now on the small of Nero's back, shifting lower and lower with gentle squeezes on his cushiony behind. "You make me exactly the same coffee you did a few hours and I'll teach you. There's a simple method for you to get the basics down and we can work from there. Sound good?"

Nero was eye to eye with him at full height; the boost providing the answer to world war three. "Really? No snide joke? No making fun of me that I can't get the simplest thing right?"

Vergil puckered his lips, shaking his head curiously. "That's Dante's department; I wouldn't find a joke in there even if I tried." He could watch Nero all day scrunched like this, meddling over the simplest of pleasures he had yet to encounter through daily life, panicking if the tiniest of detail wasn't perfect to his standard. "Do we have a deal? You can just nod – my hands are a little busy at the moment." As if he had a choice to say no – the smartass.

Nero tried to slip off the granite. "And because it takes so long, I'm going to need one for the road." Vergil was patient, tending to his nervousness on the subject matter going hand in hand with his summersaulting belly at the brash request. The more they spent time together, the more the layers of his promising personality peeled back at the click of a button, revealing him for the bouncy albeit sad creature he was, remembering the times he spent happy and fulfilled in his own skin and at home with his thoughts and feelings. Everything felt so natural, so right, so habitual with Nero around that he allowed himself to forget the gloom and unease for a few minutes – the only person to have ever gotten that right was his twin brother – and with such a feat dominated in such a short time it gave him reason to believe Nero was of another calibre of human being; the type that gave a shit, who's genuine care and concern made you a bad person for not thinking about it first.

Both their hands occupied, Vergil wasted no time in connecting the kiss and relishing in what it was: delicate, sinful, pure; the best words he could use to describe Nero in a nutshell. Uncompromised thirst quenched while shining stars observed in loathing at the simplicity of it all, acknowledging the complexity of the beings entwined in the covetous act oblivious to the moving world around them, so absorbed in the passion and warmth generated between them and neither daring to break the bond of trust and longing encapsulated in perfect bliss. Vergil rightfully took the lead, pulling the fragile form into his strong build and encircling him wholly and truly; Nero folded his arms on his muscled chest, his fingers clinging to the fibres of his own lucidity as much as the fabric of his t-shirt, sketching his erratic heartbeat on the channels made by his collarbone and laying his palm flat on what could only be described as the best response imaginable – feeling what he did to Vergil was spellbinding in its own right, the poor author's heart racing at an uncanny speed to his gentle caresses and softness, delving into that part of him reserved for the most beautiful moments in life.

He could do this all day, all night, and never consider air having meaning to him. Nero pulled back in shame, breathing in lost air like a normal human being. "I still have coffee to make, Vergil."

Nero really wanted that lesson. "Just-" He held up a single finger, pecking the student once more and moving to the side. "Okay, I think I'm good. I think; I could be wrong."

And so began the intricate dance around the kitchen, following his teacher's orders to the T as he remembered them – through the troubling obstacles behind him; correction, obstacle – and produced a mug similar to the first with added froth and cinnamon. "I'm not too sure on the spice, so-"

"I'm sure it's fine."

He left the drink on the counter as he shuffled to the freezer. "You're not gonna try it?"

"In a bit. I'm too warm for that at the moment." Locating a full tray of ice, Vergil cracked the frozen piece of plastic and popped them for easy access. He stood in his previous spot and tapped the counter directly in front of him – just as he did for the pool incident. "I highly recommend you resume the exact position you were in, might make it a little easier for you."

Nero did as he was told, Vergil purposely immobile as he climbed the countertop skimming the front of his body with his backside; in place, he utilised his thumb to spread him again, securely stuffing himself in his happy place. He plucked out half the tray, balancing them at angles where they protruded at the top for quick retrieval. Vergil raked through his hair with his wet and cold fingers, tucking stray wisps of hair behind his ears. "What on earth are you doing?"

He sarcastically stretched his neck from side to side, giving Nero a quick gander at the eighth wonder of the world. "A deal is a deal, Nero-"

"No, I mean with the ice."

"It's part of the lesson. Now-" he pointed at the steaming blocks to Nero's right, "-I'm going to pop one of these in my mouth and it's your job to get it out. Breathe through your nose only when you need to." He picked the one at the topmost left corner

Nero watched as the ice immediately began to melt at his touch, the heat proving way too much for its struggling state. "And when I do?"

He brought it his lips, testing the temperature on his tongue. "We swap – I try and get it out of yours."

The offending block disappeared into his hot mouth; how long would it be before it melted just simmering in there? Nero resisted doing the math in his head and stirring against Dante's warning of overthinking to the finest detail. This was happening; right now, sitting inside Vergil's house on his kitchen counter fastened to it by Vergil himself – the truth of it all hit him bang smack in his chest, pushing his ribcage on his stressed lungs, but rather than finding it hard to breathe he expelled all his qualms and distress out to join the millions of restless atoms that roamed uncertainly through space and time. "I need time to hyperventilate, please. Next one, I promise."

"Fair enough." He moved it around in his mouth melting it faster. "I'm sorry for not asking." Vergil leaned over the slab and hunted his coffee down, taking a sip at the still steaming beverage. "I don't like being too cold." He raised his eyebrows as he grabbed the second, holding it in front of Nero for confirmation of being ready. "I'll stand still and you move me as you wish."

He nodded, watching the frozen cube dip into sweltering hell; it moistened Vergil's lips, the lighting scheme on his side making him look as tasty as he should. After what seemed like the deepest breath he would ever take, he met Vergil's mouth with his own, licking his way into the cavern where he was to lay his sanity to rest; the author gave him entry, his tongue hiding the ice well and complicating Nero's objective. Before getting into it Vergil pulled back and opened his mouth – empty. "Fail."

The worst 'F' word uttered to an intellectual. "I've never failed anything in my life."

He harvested number three. "Sorry to have broken your record, Nero." And into his mouth it went. "Again."

Vergil moved closer, thinking the distance was what threw him off; he reacted quicker, more determined after dipping into the waters and savouring it for due course. Nero's tongue glided over the length of Vergil's, seducing the organ to hand it over on submission alone – he felt it getting smaller on the side of his tongue with it just barely slipping out of the twin's grasp slow enough to have melted entirely. "Fail." The white-haired fiend smiled at number four, planting a good-luck kiss on all six of its sides. "Third time may be the charm, but I can do this for as long as you want me to."

Nero was at his limit. "It's really difficult-"

"Because you're making it difficult for yourself." He held the ice in his hand and crushed it to freezing dust. "Make me want you to have it; make my mouth obey your command – take control of me, render me senseless, reduce me to a blubbering pile of incoherence that only your body will understand; make me yours, Nero." Vergil rubbed it between his hands and went up Nero's back, under his shirt no less. "Prove to me you want me as much as you say you do."

The cold on his back woke him from sleep, not registering the temperature but rather the spike in his demeanour in not wanting another failed attempt. With Vergil's hands currently unavailable, Nero grabbed number five and slid it through his lips, the twin sucking on the digit before he finally pulled it out, attacking his mouth with no remorse; changing his approach, Nero focused in picking at other parts of his body that would make him surrender his hold on the shrinking captive – he danced inside his mouth, using his hands on Vergil's neck to shift his focus from duty to pleasure in the blink of an eye, and the grip slackened an inch. Inadvertently smiling at his small feat, Nero moved to tackle the back of his head, scouring a path through his flawless locks and curling his fingers around their respective lengths and contorting the joints in his hand, tugging a moan from the writer. He launched at the opening, slipping his tongue under the frozen water and into his mouth, dragging his teeth and sucking at Vergil's lone flaw in his plan; Nero displayed his prize for the other to see, still dumbfounded that he had figured it out so quickly.

"Pass." Vergil, breathing hard from his declining high, stared at him from a safe distance. "Your turn."

This wasn't going to end well. Cocky as ever, Nero held his gaze and slowly pushed one into his mouth. It took all of three seconds for Vergil to recover it, chewing it down to a boasting size. "Is that it?"

So much for the student becoming the master. "Again." A redemption shot for the sake of his ego and growing lump in his pyjamas, he kept his mouth sewn shut. Vergil got up close, breathing hot air through a punishing, brutal smile as his hands traced the seams of Nero's cottons and met at the sweet spot just underneath his belly button; trailing lower and lower, his index fingers hooked into the waistband slowly showing more and more skin to the chill air, his overbearing right hand drawing the cloth halfway over his stiff manhood, abrading the skin of his base with a face deemed worthy of personified sex on legs. A moan from the deepest pits of him broke free, melted remnants escaping down the sides of his mouth while Vergil made easy work with sealing his title, noisily grinding the ice into nothing and halting his operation below, resting his hands on either side of Nero's body.

"That was good."

Anarchy incarnate glared back, his eyes burning at how good it felt. "You fucker."

The demon fluffed his hair. "I don't play fair, Nero. Never forget that."

To say Nero's body was on fire was the understatement of the millennium; the multitasking of keeping his head together yet losing his mind was by far one of the most problematic tasks to carry out – Vergil played well, aiming for blatant weak spots for an easy kill and not maintaining a scuffle the way he did; yes, elongating the process made things worse owing to rising body temperature and saliva working collectively in dissolving the substance, so would the final result equate to Nero playing for value and Vergil for the win?

He didn't care; he could barely remember the reason he was sitting there in the first place. "You ready for lesson two?"

The coffee was finished in three gulps, thanks to the layer of cold from the ice. "There's more?"

"One more thing to remember." He fixed the remaining ice back into the tray and shoved them back in the freezer. "Adjusting to your partner is just as vital as the act itself; if either is out of sync, it isn't the end of the world but you want to be on the same wavelength for as long as possible. How are you meant to guess things are going to go further if your bodies don't communicate properly?" Vergil found his place again, his limp companion gradually gathering his lost strength. "You should reach the same point at the same time, with something as tiny as a gleam in their eye to tell you everything you need to know for the next three hours or so-"

"Three hours?"

Vergil bowed deeply. "Minimum."

This is ridiculous. "Is that your personal best?"

"Nope." He was back at Nero's thighs, digging deeper into his flesh to return the hunger that disappeared in his eyes. "Four hours and seventeen minutes." Vergil spread him wider, pulling him onto the edge of the slab, his big hands supporting his spine for any strain that may occur during lesson two. "You want to give it a try?"

This part was going to be easy; the manner in which Vergil was holding him gave no leeway for choice. "Please."

The crack in Nero's voice yielded no explanation; Vergil was on him like a sensual moth to a welcoming flame, accepting his death with grace the closer he flew into the light; they started slow, building up a steady rhythm between them as their hands danced over their frames inch by inch, leaving no flesh untouched. Vergil hugged him as close as their positions would allow, tearing with desire along the ripples of muscle on Nero's back; the younger man clung to every action, arching his back with every scratch and tugging harder at the other's hair, wanting to suppress a piercing scream that may wake up the entire building. Vergil wanted to make him moan and couldn't care less how he did it: he wrenched himself from Nero to take homage in his neck, nipping and sucking at the hastily-bruising flesh as the student made more room for him to explore; his left hand remained at the small of his back while his right hovered over to the forbidden lands, palming over the hardness through his sleepwear – it didn't help Nero that the hand on his back was pushing him into it, so he saw fit in doing the only thing he could: hooking his ankles behind the author jerked him forward, adding another force of pressure to the mix, and didn't he deliver. The groan was raspy and coated in sex, travelling a long way for its long-awaited promise of fresh air and fulfilling Vergil's wish in more ways than one. After that followed a series of smaller, breathier moans in tune with the white-haired man's endeavours below as if he were compelling the sweet sounds out of his body by force and utterly nailing lesson two on their first try.

Vergil's tally of Nero's heartbeat warned him to slow down, bringing them both off the precipice they jointly endeavoured to. He reached forward and moved Nero's hair for a view of utmost serenity, kissing at every nook and cranny until a smile made its way to the surface. "I've been waiting to do that all day."

It couldn't end – not now. "Again." He clawed at his shoulders for support. "I'm not yet convinced you want me as badly as you say you do."

Vergil leaned into him and whispered in is ear, effectively triggering the final blow that would flip his world upside down. "Come upstairs with me. I'll do you justice." He grabbed Nero's hands at his hips and kissed them lovingly, hearing the last bubble sustaining his self-control pop under Vergil's wonderful spell.

They left the kitchen hand in hand, stepping carefully on the stairs to not rouse the sleeping wonder that was Dante, wherever he may be. The lights dimmed at the physical absence of a motioned presence and bathed the living rooms in darkness as they reached the top; Vergil opened his door and motioned Nero in first, wanting him to get familiar to his surroundings before the night took an expected, craving turn. Treading inside, the space positively resembled a bedroom: he turned on the lights that illuminated along the length of the walls, introducing a starry-eyed quality to the room entrancing anyone who could ever enter it; the bare walls justified the space of a cluttered mind; the closet doors along the wall had an entire separate room housing the racks of designer clothing and shoes he assumed Vergil owned; a deep grey double couch sat next to an antique typewriter uniquely nestled in a desolate corner far away from the humungous main attraction at the other end of the room where a king-sized mahogany four poster bed slept day and night, complete with a sleek roof and black shading pulled back and tied along each pole respectively. The corresponding dark bedding was expensive and beautiful, draping over it to complete the overarching stylish tone he had tried to achieve. It was as bare as a bedroom should be, but not what Nero had expected. "Shades?"

Vergil's hands found him again and snaked on his belly. "Why not? I had to get Dante to put them up for me. He's better with his hands than I am." Nero found that hard to believe considering the compromising position the pair had found themselves in owing to those very same culprits. "Plus, I couldn't take them down even if I tried. Not that I tried, but still."

The author sensed his irregular heartbeat as he cuddled closer to Nero, taking delight in the warmth of another body being this close in so long; he envisioned this moment the second he had entered their home, his hopes growing ever closer to the dream after suggesting he stay for the additional two days. His actions were beyond his usual boring persona, annoying Dante to the end of his wits if he suffered from writer's block; Vergil had run through the script over and over in his head, followed through with his scheduled meditation, yet still could find no reason that Nero wasn't real – that he wasn't sent from Heaven as a sign for him to remember to keep himself alive, breathing, happy, and all those other fuzzy things. Yet here he was, in flesh and bone and in his bedroom with a beating heart, two healthy lungs, and a psyche that craved him with equivalent vigour. Words eluded Vergil in moments like these, when reality finally became better than any dream he could ever imagine and letting it run its course against his sounds judgement.

The walk up the staircase cleared his mind, and judging from the form in his arms there was doubt whether or not this should happen. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Unfortunately for Nero, logic had sneaked into what was meant to be a magical moment. "It was your idea-"

"I know, and it was in the heat of the moment." Of course, who could say no when their tongue was being sucked by the person asking the question? Maybe it was all too sudden, happening way too fast for Nero to keep track of what was going on. "I don't want you to feel obligated to do it because we're already here."

His fingers were light on his skin, not wanting to overstep any boundaries that may send him screaming to the hills. All was well and good downstairs, close to his room with an easy way out, but this was entirely different ballgame: had he known he'd be having all of these thoughts prior to decisively make Nero his, he would have gotten it out of the way without being in such a romantic atmosphere. He lowered his head at the exposed shoulder, kissing Nero delicately bidding to lessen the burden should Nero choose to not go through with it; the student's keen and sharp mind crunched to fine dust at the contact but turned to face him instead of falling to his knees in a stupor. "Vergil, if you don't want to I understand-"

"I want to. Badly. You have no idea how it kills me to see you walk around and not…" He suddenly stopped and heaved a sigh, pushing the boy's hair behind his ear to not obscure the perfect vista he had created.

Nero was far from letting his sentiment go. "Not what?"

Vergil had that potent look in his eyes once again, the accidental giveaway that had his focus enthralled to another dimension where only he and Nero existed, wrapped up in each other's minds as they work together to wake their sleeping desires one minute at a time and becoming one in the sought-after act of a rising itch only the other could scratch. Vergil found his searing lips, taking him by surprise at the older man's sudden hint of inspiration. "Not have my lips all over you, dragging you here and ravaging you the moment your head hit those pillows." He found them once more, his tongue begging for entry into Nero's mouth. "Not being inside you and having my name take new meaning as it's belted in a lust-crazed scream bursting from your lungs." He held the student around his neck, controlling and limiting the pace to long deep strokes inside his mouth, cherishing the new taste. "I can't rush you into something like this-"

"If you can't already figure out the answer, then you're not paying much attention."

The smirk that overcame Vergil was indescribable, picking Nero from the floor and enclosing his legs on his lean waist. "Then I suggest you hold on tight." Nero clung to his strong frame as he mounted the beast of a bed crawling along the sheets and locating the very centre of it, laying him down against the lush, soft bedding that he practically sunk into; the silky fabric agreed with his skin on all levels and his mind drifted to the amazing good night's sleep he was about to have between them. Even the thought made him laugh, but snapping back to reality at the grave face that stared him down made him worried. "What is it-"

"Please, and I'm being serious this time; I happen to go too far and you don't like it, you tell me to stop." Nero attempted a reassuring speech but was halted by Vergil's lips. Again, making him forget the thought he had mere seconds ago. "Don't be scared – one word, and we go back to festering over how desperately we need each other all over again, okay?" He was being adorably sincere and making him feel welcome in his territory, all the more hoping tonight wouldn't come to that. "We go on normally… like this never happened."

Nero could swear he had heard those words being uttered to him before, but figuring out where exactly held no preference to the oncoming overdose of pleasure he wasn't prepared to conceptualise. "If we're being honest, I'd prefer not to forget this."

With that being the final confirmation, Vergil began his customary routine of seduction by playing with the hem of his target's shirt, sitting in an upright position and removing the offending fibres that hid away most of the canvas he couldn't wait to devour; Nero returned the favour until they both sat bare-chested on the sheets, Vergil pushing him back playfully to lie flat so he could continue his onslaught. Down Nero's body he sank, lower and lower and increasing the bites and licks over the muscles on his torso, not believing he could say no to the frenzied mindfuck Vergil had already twisted inside of him; the sheer breathlessness he experienced at the miniscule exploit did wonders for his mental health, sending his eyes shut to concentrate on every part of his body Vergil's lips had taken over and the small sparks of light he left on his way to ignite the fire that would burn much later in the night.

Was this what he's been missing out on all this time? Would it have been the same if it wasn't Vergil on the other side of the bed? Did it only feel this good because he was being catered to by his literary hero? Did he care? Those questions, solid as rocks within the sturdy confines of his head, were trampled to rubble as Vergil's fingers caught his purple cottons in his grasp and slid them off in slow agony, his teeth nibbling on the fresh flesh that had been hidden by the repulsive piece of clothing. Chucking it across the room, he took the chance to observe Nero below him in his creamy glory, flawless skin and refined muscles that would make Dante cry; his broad shoulders shuddered in embarrassment as he watched Vergil eye his everything from his head to his toes, roughly grazing his naked calves in excitement. "How could I have waited so long to feast into this?"

Nero had no time to play coy as Vergil's tongue had discovered his inner thighs and all hell broke loose inside of him; the teeth on his sensitive skin provided a treacherous whirlwind that pulled him from his own form and placing him at the brink of falling into the same abyss he found himself earlier – the tender wetness of the organ between his legs ghosted over the bruising he could feel welling in place to be seen tomorrow, flying on its own accord across every receptive nerve that sent him closer and closer to jumping into the comforting pool of black at his feet.

The gentle shuffle of the sheets below forced his eyes open and saw Vergil get comfortable on the bed, their eyes making contact for three seconds before he witnessed pleasure in its purest form, clouding his eyes a hazy white coat as he threw his head into the pillows behind him. His big hands encircled Nero's thighs pushing them apart as his mouth took in his tip, tasting the salty smooth texture at the base of his tongue. He sucked fiercely at the skin, taking the student deeper and deeper into his tight throat, satiating that long-awaited ache of being the first to taste him in this way, being the first to have his juices fill his stomach and potentially ruin him for the rest of his sex life. Vergil held him in the bend of his knee, pushing upward and ultimately using his hands on his entire length, waiting for the opportune time to be sufficiently wet for them to glide over without so much as a hitch. The man underneath squirmed at the change of pace and environment, outwardly content with Vergil's mouth for the rest of the ride down his own insanity tunnel and the contrast shoving the dilapidated cart along as a boost to reach his destination quicker than he anticipated.

And then Vergil stopped. All the boy could muster was a look with a heaving chest with the cart going in reverse.

"You're biting your knuckles." His firm grasp left his growing erection and lay to rest on his ankles. "Why are you biting your knuckles?"

Was he really expecting an answer? "To be quiet-"

"This room is soundproof." Vergil tapped his fingers on Nero's knee like something that specific was common knowledge – at least it explained the empty walls. He got back on his knees between the boy's legs and held out his hands for him to take, enclosing his victim's thighs in a fixed state. "I'm going to start again, and this time I want to hear you." The writer laced their fingers tightly and wasted no time in being careful, taking his entire length into his mouth in a heartbeat; with Vergil's lips taking refuge at his base, he felt a deep shudder rise through the bones of his spine and expel in a deep, raspy moan, breathy at first and taking a darker, more sinister turn as he worked the shaft with his tongue. The grip on his hands gradually grew tauter, feeling Nero's tip twitch at the skin of his throat as the start of his oncoming orgasm. Every slow adventure down his penis had awoken a satisfied growl that reverberated against the clean walls, forcing Nero's pair of scissors ever so near to that final fibre of rationality concealed within the steady build in his belly, burning his core to the fifth power under his hero's skillset; his laments became quicker, easier to flow through from his chest to his now gaping mouth, warped at feeling his sex in Vergil's turbulent control in pulling from him the first ever orgasm not by his own hand.

His movements became slow and calculated, holding fast on Nero's hands and used them as catalysts for his final duty at whirling him into a complete mess – he needn't go far: the poor boy was hanging on his last reserve with an almost dry oesophagus, using what strength he had left to hold onto the man wreaking havoc down below. In one fell swoop he scraped his teeth along his entire length and a white-hot sensation flooded his mouth, suctioning his lips at his enflamed tip to swallow it all, not daring to for a single drop to flow anywhere but inside him. Nero buckled under the pressure, arching his back and unintentionally pushing further into him with the loudest, ear-piercing shriek he had the pleasure of witnessing. Vergil licked him clean with a full once-over, unclasping his frail hands and resuming the clutch on his thighs to observe the beautiful sight of his breath-taking body's post-orgasm afterglow; he soaked in it, basking at its relentless reaction at hoping to quell the beast begging to erupt.

Vergil sprang at the opening to palm himself, gaining a first-hand perspective of the promising effects of the now hostile human writhing beneath him, struggling to keep track of the tornado wracking his form and shaking in accordance to another build-up amid his tightened core. Nero spread his legs for an unbarred vision of him playing with himself, attempting to map a distinct outline for what he was going to have to deal with relatively soon. The older man dug his nails into the knee at his disposal, clearly on the road to something far more devious and chilling than his tongue; the upturned eyebrow and lick to his swollen lips told Nero all he needed to know, moving his hand provocatively inside the front of his sweats. "You're pure evil, you know that?"

Oh didn't he know it. "Save your energy Nero. You're gonna need it." Nero guessed that sitting upright for a few seconds might cure the sudden onset of motion sickness gnawing at his stomach and chest, and hauled upward with great difficulty owing to most of his bones reduced to expired jelly. Little did he know Vergil would have none of it – lunging forward he pressed him back into the mattress, hovering precariously over his frame coated in all things devil. "Stay on your back... I won't tell you a third time."

Vergil deliberately took of his pyjamas painfully slow and kept his eyes fastened to Nero; the younger man followed the small stretch of land the sweats took to collect at his knees, catching sight of his powerful, raging erection growing heavy under the strain of blood and lust; he kicked the rest hastily across the room finding the ideal spot at Nero's feet for him for a glimpse of what was to come. He slicked his hair back to their normal position and fondled his manhood once more, pumping just enough to get himself going for his prep; he reached down to his left to locate a hidden compartment in the base of the bed from which he picked at a big cylindrical bottle with honey-coloured contents. For all intents and purposes, Nero hoped there wasn't a concealed switch on the peculiar object, and to his delight the bigger man popped the cap at the top and dribbled some of the sweet-smelling substance on his ever-growing penis.

He took some on the tip of his finger and pointed it to Nero. "Open your mouth." He did as he was told, shocked at the sugary taste on his palate. Vergil squeezed a drop on his chest and smudged a straight line down with his finger, stopping just above his belly button. "Now close your eyes." He obeyed, and Vergil rewarded him with a blow of hot air up his stomach: it felt scorching and tingly, travelling right down to the tips of his toes and the lids of his eyes as he allowed a mesmerising giggle to escape him as he was licked clean with teeth and tongue working in tandem to rid his belly of the gel. "Heat-sensitive – burns you up and cools you down, and its caramel; my favourite."

Vergil was stalling. "Can I taste some more? I think I missed the caramel." He repeated the same action for Nero to appreciate the well-rounded flavour only for him to pull him to his level and suck the coated two fingers into his mouth – he whimpered at the sweetness, lapping up every dreg of the lubricant from Vergil's fingers, swirling the wet organ in a myriad of directions before tugging at them with his teeth, lightly grazing the skin and double checking that not a drop was left behind. Nero pulled them out, drenching them in his saliva as his bottom lip bent under the coarse texture of his hand. "Yeah, that's caramel."

The man at the end of the bed couldn't physically take it any longer; he lathered himself once again, using some of the left overs to smear on Nero's entrance by gliding two fingers over the puckering flesh. The man below thought he would have been dying of shyness by now, but his brazen move from earlier gave him the boost of confidence he needed to stare the devil in the face, ready to offer his body as sacrifice for the bliss that was being controlled by Vergil.

He lined them up below and stole one last glance at Nero spread on the bed for his pleasure; he fell forward, covering his body with his own and resting his weight on his left arm which the boy caressed with a nervous smile, changing instantly to a gaping mouth as Vergil pushed inside of him and arching his back to support the new invasion in his lower region. The sparks from before now became tiny bonfires under his skin, heating his body at the renewed rippling sensation currently tearing him in half; most of his breath left his body in that moment, ejecting noiseless moans from his chest at Vergil's enormous wrath beating inside of him – he swelled upon entry, making it difficult at first to continue a smooth, painless assault, feeling Nero's soft walls easily being stretched to accompany him. "You'll get used to it. I just have to go slow for now." The poor man below was too busy regaining the feeling back in his legs to respond, opting to just go with Vergil's flow and placing all trust in him that everything would be fine, but it wasn't too long after that the initial pain altered to something completely different, something benign, something so good it had Nero clawing at the bed, his knuckles turning the purest shade of white at attempting to hold himself together. Vergil caught the slight ruffles of the sheets and turned the pressure up a notch, raising his legs around his waist and positioning his arms at his hips to box him in, giving Nero a taste of what he had been missing up to this point.

With every thrust came a missed breath, a skipped heartbeat, and a brief look into Nero's wavering conscience disguised as a desperate, aching squeak at the aspect of skin meeting skin, Vergil basically burying himself inside him each time; he slowed in pace, following a balanced rhythm of speed and depth upon seeing a pair of furrowed eyebrows at the headboard – the signs were all there: a thin sheen of sweat on his body, the flaying hands looking for anything to latch onto, the echoing knock in his walls at irregular intervals; Nero was about to come, and fast. He let go of every part of him he held onto and spread himself over the cushiony, shrivelling frame on the mattress. "Could I steal you for a second?"

Nero's eyes opened in a blank gaze, sighing at seeing Vergil's angelic face up close. "What is it?"

The man on top pushed their foreheads together in a harmless manner to reattach their lips for what seemed like eons ago. "Watch," he said, cautiously bending his neck in full view of his work, penetrating him with ease; the motions and scene alone were more than what he bargained for, but what really sent him over the edge was watching the muscles of his chest and abdomen flex with every thrust, like waves of the sea crashing violently against the shore in an unobstructed motion of power and purpose with no other intention than to satisfy the incredible want of tasting the prohibited ambrosia of his own closeted absolutions. Without a word, Vergil crashed their lips together and flung the boys arms around his neck, utilising the kiss as a warning for the inhumane thrusts he would carry out for the sole intent of draining every single drop out of him.

Nero felt his legs dwindle after every plunge, long and thick, hard against his walls generating delicious friction on the flesh he brushed with his hardness over and over, nagging and hitting at the skin of his prostate spot on; the hair at his disposal was clenched for his mental well-being, treating it like the thread that waned thinner with the seconds that ticked by. Vergil dug into the sheets at his ribs and picked him up, ripping his sweaty body from the black silk and cradling him in his lap, raising his knees for support as he gripped his shoulders from behind and pressed downward, completely disappearing inside of him and that extra length sending him where he needed to be. Nero came hard from his last endeavour, shoving his hands in his own hair and sinking onto Vergil's thighs to hinder the lightning enveloping his already throbbing loins as the stickiness spilling from his penis and onto their chests; not enough to satisfy Vergil, he grappled his base and pulled, dragging bits of skin and the rest of his orgasm leaking over his tip and length; he grew impatient eyeing his unpredictable victim, taking matters into his own hands – literally – and used his thumb to scrape at a line of cum that founds its way to the corner of his mouth and traced the outline of his lips, his tongue following close behind. As a last attack on his sanity, he sucked on it catching Nero's crystal blue stare and held it until he collapsed into his arms, his erection painful between them. "I would apologise, but-"

"Please don't. This is what I wanted."

Vergil held him as close as ever, never wanting to let go and never wanting another living being in his place; everything about Nero seemed familiar, and they were so at home with each other and in sync with their bodies that coincidence couldn't count. They kissed – wholesome, resonant, and nourishing to the lost energy between them, picking up the pieces and repairing the damage sandwiched in the sheets; it was a good kiss, the kind that thawed through your defences and rendered you helpless at something as simple as a touch, a glance, a smirk in just the right way leaving you with the only option to surrender against your better judgement that was thrown out of the window the moment your lips touched.

Nero planted his feet firmly on either side of Vergil, still impaled by the rigidity that refused to go away after that immense display of dynamism. "Really? You didn't want more?"

Vergil fell into the fluffy goodness behind him, giving Nero that unforgettable view of raw, gorgeous stamina. "You're spent. More isn't an option."

Nero wasn't one to back down from a challenge and he was sure he still had one round in him – bending is knees behind him, he adjusted to a cosy position around Vergil's hardness, involuntarily biting his lip at the almost forgotten trait of being invaded by such a magnificent being. "Try me."

Bad choice of words: again, Nero found himself braving a twin at his own game. Vergil ran out of forgiving options, raising his hips off the bed and suspending him mid-air – where Nero never thought possible, the twin penetrated deeper into him, chipping away his purity two inches at a time. A filthy, indecent, erotic howl erupted from his chest and bounced back to him thanks to the mahogany ceiling, hitting him at all at once as he caught himself on Vergil's hips. A ridiculously brutal shudder tore him to shreds, distinctively shaking him like a convulsion beginning at the base of his spine. Nero waved his invisible white flag in submission, taking a step back at the obvious bite he couldn't chew. "I take that back."

* * *

Dante sat on the couch in noise isolating headphones holding the controller to his PlayStation 4 and patiently waiting for his new mission to load. Owing to dying too many times, the game had offered him the chance at playing easy mode to which he scoffed and began an entirely new game at his usual difficulty. He had hoped the violence and gore on screen would be adequate to muffle the laments and white noise in the background, but given his status that was a luxury he could only afford in the depths of Hell: it would form as the perfect distraction while playing and getting ever louder owing to him ignoring them, he finally paused his game at chapter fourteen, plucked off his headphones and walked to the source of the noise a few feet away. He couldn't gage how much noise he was making at his feet as the foul language grew louder in his eardrums.

Fully aware of what was going on behind door number one, he sneaked passed to door number two, realising how stupid he was for trying to be quiet outside a soundproof room. Behind the double steel doors he could hear the sounds of ash and smoke, oil and water, fire and ice – they were fighting again, after Dante had warned them about happened previously.

He should have guessed the two would have at in the expanse of the great room, being able to destroy every single literary work to pieces and replicate it within a few seconds – because that was their nature now; their yearning for demonic bloodlust had slowed down since the long trek to human life living as ornaments and rejecting the idea with every day that passed on. Vergil's power was a coincidence; his anger driving him to pick up the sword as an act of self-harm but having the tables turn on him becoming a wielder once more, giving Yamato that lost spur of faith that it was now his chance to return back to the way things were. Sadly not.

The swords could tell he had received a call and they wanted to know what was going on: they were nosy by nature, and who could blame them? Hanging on a wall after a long illustrious career as the most feared devil arms in history was never stipulated in a contingency plan, and every day Dante would find himself fighting the same fight with them, standing outside the safe door and imbuing as much power through it as he could to keep them calm. They could feel the amulet's residue racing through his veins, a faint scent on his fingertips that made contact with the door in glowing a dark crimson. Little did they know that part of it was the fact that it was locked safely directly underneath them in a tiny vault hidden away from his brother, with no one else knowing he owned it.

Apart from him, there was only one other person who knew.

"Tomorrow," he said, receiving two tiny vibrations in acknowledgement of his promise. "Right now isn't the right time." His soothing voice and touch halted the background clutter of racket altogether, and he traversed back to his game as if nothing had happened.

* * *

Nero laid flat on his back underneath the silky sheets catching the breath that had escaped him a few minutes prior; far from exhaustion and pain, he steadied his racing heart at the vision next to him, relaxing on his left arm and watching him vigilantly. As he had promised he had been gentle and kind, taking both their needs into consideration and not going at it full strength on the inexperienced man; be that as it may, Vergil had a hard time keeping his hands to himself as Nero floated on cloud nine back to the four walls that enclosed them, his high a little more compelling owing to his humanity. Even at Vergil's weakest efforts, the student found it hard to imagine anything more blissful than what he had just gone through, his body reaching an incontestable empty desert of tranquillity he could see himself roaming for years on end. He waited for Nero to make the first move, laying his hand under the covers for the twin to take and placing a soft kiss across his knuckles, emitting a tiny chuckle of concern at the red swollen bite marks on his smooth skin. Their eyes met, drunk off the scent of sexual dexterity as Vergil moved closer for a post-coital nightcap perfectly positioned on Nero's lips. "As Dante would say: deep breaths, Nero."

That kiss wasn't helping him at all. "They don't help. He's delusional – the only thing that it's doing as riling me up even more." And just like that, years of pent up disappointment and wondrous fascination snuck into one night that had yet to surprise him even more. The smile on Vergil's face made him blush sixteen shades of red – there was so much respect and love hankered in the deepest niches of his being for this man, and where he was now would never compare to anything in his wildest dreams. The author had worshipped his body the way proper lovers should, humbling him deep into the luscious sheets by the forces of their own nature as pleasure-seekers, giving him his first taste of the tantalising and awe-inspiring emotion that he had not known existed. "I wished that book would have said something about this."

Vergil shuffled under the covers to trace along the trenches on his stomach, gracing his chest with his touch. "I have to keep you in suspense for some aspects of my private life, don't I? If anything, it's an entirely different experience each time; nothing feels or sounds the same as I initially wrote it, but then I throw it off as depending on what mood I'm in. New emotions, same old stories; experiencing other things hidden between the lines I wasn't remotely aware of." His gaze had swayed from Nero's features, staring into an uncomfortable space. "Sounds ridiculous I know, but I remember everything I've ever written; it's just that one that confuses me sometimes. Like, how did I miss that the first time? Or the second? Or the third…" He vaguely recalled the last time the book had hit him harder than he had planned, almost destroying the apartment block and its inhabitants, he and Dante included.

He offered a sad smile to Nero, who took matters into his own hands and using what energy he collected to hold him in his arms; Vergil was on the verge of tears, threatening to spill as the kiss found its way to his forehead. "If it's any consolation, I can't begin to explain how empty I felt when I finished it." The younger man began playing with the strands of his hair, still in shock at the braveness that overcame him to comfort the visibly distraught poet. "I was drained somewhat; spent, as if having nothing left to offer to you any more than I had already given. A piece of me just drifted away into nothingness and I could feel this small hole in my chest. I know it's very different from what you usually write but… I was sad. I was hurt, because that's what the book told me to feel." Vergil was in Heaven, comforted by the in-depth detail to Nero's encounter with the harshest moments of his career. "Speaking of which, ummm-"

"No I didn't." Vergil opened his eyes found his new obsession, imbedding tiny kisses across his chest cavity. "It's not you." The smooth skin grew taut at his bashful touch, tickling an already fuzzy Nero. "I'm a royal pain in the ass – it will take a while." The boy didn't move, thoroughly enjoying the attention Vergil's lips were giving him, unashamedly dissolving into the pile of mush he had worked so hard to rectify. The man at his torso stopped, straining his ear at the changing pace of the organ pounding his ribcage to dust – it had been such a long time since he made a connection so quickly with a stranger, yet also not feeling like a stranger to begin with; their forms matched like lost puzzle pieces to the sands of time, foreign only to not being acknowledged as a single entity up until this point.

Their bond went beyond infatuation brought together under the phenomenon of intricate passages on paper, along with the deep-sated knowledge of being bound by the complexities of such words brought to life through their own interpretations obscure enough to make sense; defeated souls finding each other below the same sky under the same name and baring their passions to one another, bowing before the definitive powers of fate to unite them as individually imperfect persons to become one perfect beating heart. "Tell me what I have to do."

Vergil looked up at him, confusion and then worry etching his flawless face. "Nero, no. I don't think you understand what you're asking me-"

"And I don't think you understand how badly I want to make you come." Nero shifted his body in line with Vergil's, his striking blue eyed glazed over in determination and fear, dilated with the avenues he would take to ensure the twin's release. Still, having his body entrapped between a rock and the author's hard place was a destination he saw fit to explore given the circumstances they were now in. He wasn't going to win, and Nero guessed he didn't want to. "I want to touch you, Vergil."

He wasn't about to make it that easy for him. "As long as I get to do the same-"

"No." Nero persuasively snaked closer to his form and flexed his fingers on Vergil's neck. "It's my turn. You had your chance." He immediately knew this was going to be painful as Nero pulled their bodies closer together, smiling at the disbelieving look Vergil had given him. "Put your hands where I can see them."

He went back to lying on his elbow while his other arm casually stayed at his side over the covers. "Do your worst."

"I plan to." Nero dropped his hands under the covers distressingly slow, feeling his way to nestle between Vergil's legs – he began pressurising his base, using his fingers to pull at the skin and direct his bodily attention to assist him in his endeavour; the victim pried his concentration away from it, attempting to hide the fact that being touched was his ultimate weakness. He had very few in his repertoire but behind closed doors was when the sensitivity rose to ungodly levels and a single finger remotely close to his happy place would instantaneously send him to the edge of his own equanimity. Such was the case, where Nero has his full hand wrapped around his growing erection gently pumping the muscle to the skin of his tip and tracing his digits down the pulsating veins that engorged with his blood. Vergil's face lost its grip seconds into the act, falling onto his shoulder as his limp forearm gave into Nero's actions, closing his eyes and throwing his head into the pillow and biting it with all his might.

The student increased the pressure in his hand, constricting the joints so the entire limb moved long and hard on his length, earning from Vergil the sexiest noise he could ever imagine hearing; it came from the deepest pits of his stomach, knotting his rising satisfaction into a lone sphere of compulsion and succumbed to fresh air under Nero's control, dragging from him an open-mouthed feral snarl that even the pillow couldn't mask. He urged the boy on by pushing his body into him, wanting him to go faster: he obeyed, grabbing Vergil's leg and bending it over his body for more room to work with before he finally attacked his delicate tip, massaging it roughly with his fingertips. Nero caught him unawares, crafting the finest bulging, swollen masterpiece for which to wreak havoc on, and although his brain told him it was enough, Vergil had just clamped tufts of his hair between his fingers – his tell-tale that he needed just a little bit more attention – as his open mouth moaned into Nero's neck as a last ditched effort to stay sane for a bit longer.

He reached at the top of the bed for the bottle of lube that Vergil tossed during their first charade, uncapping it quickly to squeeze some of it into his hand and spreading it along his length, quickening his pace and clasping what life was left out of them to ensure that there was no way his victim could walk from this unscathed. Vergil bit down hard, tearing the skin in the crook of his neck and shoulder and causing a pained yet aggressive mewl to erupt from the boy; he wrenched Nero's head in the opposite direction to inspect the damage and lapped softly at the life source oozing from his pale skin up to his earlobe where he whispered, infuriated at the erection he had pumped out of him. "Turn around."

Nero knew he had him. He wouldn't back down. "Say the magic word."

Vergil turned his head to face him with a look ready for murder of the first degree. "NOW!"

For once the boy had listened, flipping over to lean on the other side of his body with a devious smile until his higher leg was pulled back in the same manner, Vergil thrusting into him harder than before; this was what he anticipated from the man, blind with raging thirst only the roughest of sexcapades could appease – now unleashing his full potential on the boy, Nero actively decided on doing absolutely all it took to squeeze that orgasm out of his tiny waist, listening to every irregular breath and heartbeat and command stemming from his partner to manufacture the ultimate release he would ever experience. Vergil slowed down owing to the limited range on being on their sides; grabbing hold of the warm body he readily pounded into, he flipped him on his stomach and kept his legs closed as he pulverised him again, a full range of motion added to the mix.

Nero. Felt. Everything. Everywhere. The sting had returned, engrossing his skin in charming goose bumps and setting his whole frame on fire at the limited span of control he had over his own muscles. Vergil's hands were on his shoulders again, pushing him into the mattress and rendering him helpless to any contribution he may have offered to the exploit for his needs; the intensity of his thrusts shifted Nero nearer to the headboard, placing his palms flat on the rich wood for him to see – the pain from before was nowhere to be found, replaced by the voracious demands that woke from their twenty three year hiatus where he basked in the unmatched wrath of Vergil's inner sex demon.

The author lied flat on Nero's body ensuring everything was okay with the purest of kisses on his puffy lips, maintaining his unforgiving pace inside him while lacing the fingers grazing the expensive headboard. Vergil caught sight of the man digging his face into the sheets, stifling screams that his body could no longer hold. "I want to give you more, Nero." Both covered in sweat and denying their bodies nothing short of untainted ecstasy, he allowed himself to be pulled onto his knees by a big hand at his hip, holding him in place while the stronger thrusts began, plunging in and out of his body in luxury at an alarming speed. The moans grew deeper, gruffer, and murkier after every push, the sound of naked skin on skin developing a rhythm of its own between the two flustered men. Nero spread his legs wider on the bed, edging Vergil to go deeper if he so wished; the man behind him placed random kisses on his toned back in tune with his thrusts, and so arose the first signals of his third orgasm for the night; Vergil too was reaching his peak, opting for longer, deeper, lingering plunges as opposed to the relentless hammering that had brought him to this point.

The bigger man pulsated along his walls, beating with his heart and the torturous liquid Nero had pumped through his body. "Stay where you are."

Just a few more; he hadn't lost it just yet. "What-"

"Come inside me, Vergil." Without warning Nero pushed his frame onto his penis and clamped his muscles around his shaft, forcing the white hotness to shoot into him and coating his walls in the warmth he had craved since landing on the bed a few hours prior. The sheer force of the action pushed Vergil on his ass with Nero remained captured in his position of intense arousal, touching himself in favour of his final thread snapping in two.

"Oh no you don't." He was on him in a flash, reaching forward and apprehending the guilty party, collecting his liquid sanity in one quick, heavy pump. He repeated his actions from earlier, stringing the semen between his fingers and licking them clean one by one.

Nero turned his head and watched it flow effortlessly down his throat. "You like doing that, don't you?"

Vergil was short of breath, having a bad time regaining his sense of self. "You taste really good, that's all." He scaled behind him, kissing up his spine to rest his mouth on his neck, holding Nero close at what they had achieved. Never had the author felt so raw and alive in a long time, as well as having someone like Nero be the one to satisfy him on the furthest level known to man. Vergil held him exceedingly close, relishing in what was soon to be the best night of his life; the boy basked in the safe space they had fashioned between their bodies, soaking in concealed thoughts neither of them choice to voice in communicating through their skin, every pore spilling forth a different story from the next. All the more, Vergil didn't want to let go – if he could stay like this forever he would. An unpleasant cloud hovered over him as he thought of only having a few more hours with Nero; the thought alone, if considered over for two long, would undoubtedly rip him in two. Again. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

He lifted the covers for Nero to slide into from the top, deftly positioning himself between his legs on top of him. "I thought you wanted to sleep."

"I do," he said, laying a fervent kiss on his lips. "A small goodnight kiss, that's all." Could that ever be the case with the overzealous writer? Vergil laced their fingers slowly, allowing Nero to feel the lingering electricity still flowing from their bodies; tiny pecks turning to longer, braver strokes, and finally diving into the last dregs of his common sense, unable to resist the fiends that had awoken in them.


	7. Sunday morning

Vergil woke at three sharp, the soft sounds of his alarm clock welcoming him into a new day. He had waited until Nero was sound asleep before he allowed himself the unconscious luxury, squeezing in two hours of uninterrupted rest that was better than any of required eight hour bouts he was used to. The covers pooled to his bare hips as he sat up straight, a blast of cold air ghosting his bare chest; the bare part he was used to, not caring much for clothes at bedtime but there was only one way it would ever be this cold in his room. Wiping his glossy eyes, he glanced to his left at the smallest of gaps open at the sliding door leading to his balcony, missing the heap of warmth that was next to him for the entire night; the dip and crumple was evident in the sheets, the spot next to him still warm as if he had left just seconds ago. Vergil spread his fingers over the lucky fabric, recalling every second of the previous night with a fulfilled smirk he knew he could get used to.

The writer located his sleepwear at the furthest foot of the bed where he left it; sliding the offending fabric over his body he made for the balcony, stealing a glance through the glass before making any more moves: the full moon shone brightly on the town, providing Nero a perfectly-positioned glow from where he was standing; the dark outline of his frame reminded him of a dream he once had, reaching into a crevasse of darkness at the only light visible for miles, running on sore legs from a creeping shadow of plasma and slaughter to wake up as soon as his hands touched the outstretched light and promising himself to never have a good night's sleep every again. Presently was no such instance, wishing he had wakened earlier to longer appreciate the lone wolf on his balcony.

Vergil opened the door to join him, the faintest of sounds breaking Nero's concentration to look at the visitor. "Did I wake you?"

He closed the door firmly behind him, keeping the warmth in and the cool out of his room; walking toward him felt so right as he stood ever close to the thick railing, letting go of it with one of his hands to clasp Vergil's as he stood behind him, kissing both of Nero's heated cheeks. "Not at all; my alarm went off." If he told that lie enough times, maybe he'd believe it.

"Oh yes, the swimming." Nero was encapsulated in his scent, emitting a saccharine musk mixed with his own that made Vergil drunk on air, seeping through his every pore and emitting the charming signals of satisfaction and utmost delight. Each breath in his lungs were more vibrant, more potent and invigorating to his senses, like Nero had suddenly become what he had been searching for the entire time. "You're skipping today?"

He wasn't one for open displays of affection, but for him to resist putting his arms around the fragile frame was more difficult than to stand feeling empty and basking in the glory allowing himself to want something out of his reach. "Something better is occupying my time." Vergil was going to do it again, wasn't he: the wet open butterfly kisses were plenty on Nero's neck, sucking at the pale skin and breathing into his ear, sneering at the whimper he pulled from the boy along with his sensitive shell, mindlessly drifting across his scalp with his eyes closed to savour him for all he was worth and more. "You need to stop me." It was all painfully familiar, having everything he needed to say speak through his actions with small, delicate touches in reply, reassuring him that he wasn't crazy for feeling what he was feeling after such a short time: it was uncanny they had felt the connection so early on, having ballooned into what it did, but they were doing much more than just riding the waves of their unbridled longing for a sense of comfort – between them resonated a deep-sated and deep love for a mind alike, someone to comprehend the complexities of life and not merely a bird's eye view from atop the height of their own ego; nothing meant more to Vergil than having someone understand how his brain worked, even more to live through them as much as Nero did. What their night together had shown him was not the usual act of pleasing a need but the willingness to give himself regardless of the outcome, and now he was stuck; he couldn't see himself letting go. He didn't want to.

Nero leaned into it all, the aftermath of their lovemaking still hanging heavy between them; he forced the man behind him to hold him closer, pulling his arms around his body further and sinking into that deep void of loneliness reserved purely for Vergil's touch. "I can't do that."

Vergil grew in annoyance at the fabric of his shirt, having to move it around to accommodate his adventure of feeling every inch of his skin on his lips, the nerves and sensitivity of them picking on the slightest quivers and shudders from the boy, wanting to pinpoint the spots that made him tick. He moved to the left side of Nero's neck, tasting the saltiness of the sweaty residue from pursuits past when he flinched, pulling out of Vergil's mouth in haste; he pulled back at the material to see a purple mark on his shoulder with two circular punctures veiled underneath. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever drawn blood from a bite, let alone dig deep enough for a dark bruise to cloud the scar entirely. "I'm so sorry about this."

There was a light chuckle in front of him. "You should be; I mean, it'll heal, but you should be." Nero turned with a look on his face that screamed that it didn't bother him in the least. "Battle scars will get me some street cred at school." He was just like Dante, cracking a joke in the awkward heat of the moment to bring things to a mellow standstill, a crossroads of deep calm upon contemplation for their next move.

Vergil pulled him nearer at the waist, digging his fingers in the same cavities that he used as leverage in their prior exploits. It came back to him in an instant, his kneecaps buckling under the predisposed uproar and his body preparing for another other-worldly invasion. "You want a drink? I make a mean whatshisface." He had refined his coy skills, trying not to notice Nero catching his breath against his chest; fingers found hair, bending and twirling the soft strands to his will until the boy could take no more, smashing his cockiness in a ruthlessly deep kiss that would have sent Vergil flying into his bedroom wall if he weren't saved by the grip on Nero's body: the bigger man easily took control of the onslaught, breaking the bond on his hips and finding his jaw to casually tear into; the student tucked his freezing hands under Vergil's shirt, relishing in the stark contrast of their body temperature and making him draw a deep breath into his mouth, the cold digits clawing at the stiff muscles in his back as Nero took advantage of his split-second weakness, pulling the waging war into his mouth and sucking the hell out of Vergil's tongue. The talented victim honed his newly acquired skills to sweep the master off his feet, finishing off with a lingering peck on his swollen lips. "A yes would have sufficed, Nero."

The author shut his eyes and steadied his breathing, his head still hazy from Nero's progressive attack on his form. A jolt of lighting struck him in his chest, concaving under the intense wave of déjà vu. The boy dreamily watched him with lidded eyes at the precise mess he had made, enjoying that the pull he had on him went vice versa. "Why did you stop?"

Oh, how the smartass tables had turned in his favour. "As romantic as it is making you mine under literal moonlight, I still have my limits." The look in both their eyes meant trouble of the worst degree; similar to the look they shared before Vergil annihilated his purity, they were both blatantly aware of the dangers behind the inner workings of their icy orbs, staring hungrily at the fated nakedness that resulted from it. "You're thirsty and I did offer to get you something."

Nero was thirsty, but Vergil interpreted the wrong thirst to be quenched; now that he thought about it he was quite parched, laughing out loud at the thought of the last thing to grace his lips beside his partner were ice cubes. "Surprise me with the whatshisface – don't tell me what's in it, just give it to me." The grip on his back loosened for Vergil to make the hasty retreat to the kitchen, only for them to catch his grasp in a firm hold, pecking each hand over his soft knuckles. They had done this before, with not a doubt in Nero's mind.

"I'll be back up here before you know it." Vergil returned the gesture with an added kiss to his lips as collateral for his departure. "Don't do anything irresistible while I'm gone." He disappeared behind the glass door leaving Nero to drown his own brilliant brainwaves, watching the moon grow bigger and bigger as his gaze on the world shifted to insurmountable elegance and fervour at the hands of a weakened soul readying to burst from his chest out of sheer joy.

* * *

Dante was in another world of fruit and boxes as the ruckus in the kitchen continued: Vergil had made these a thousand times, and the onset of it needing to be nothing short of perfect was a criterion he had not yet encountered. Still he took the challenge under his belt, not realising that Nero wouldn't care less what it was he was drinking.

He pulled three bulbous glasses from the cabinet, readying the ingredients for its assembly as Dante paused his game and perked up to see what all the fuss was about. "I'm gonna regret asking this, but what are you doing?"

The twin popped his head from rummaging through the compartments under the countertop, bringing with him an ice crusher dusty from non-use. "I'm making whatshisfaces." Yes, that is what he actually called them.

Was he serious? Dante couldn't get comfortable on the couch until he clipped his headphones onto it and set the controller down to ensure his brother's sanity for lack of a better word. "You're going to give him an energy drink at three o'clock in the morning? He's a growing boy – shame on you!" He was a grown man, but the height jokes will never not be funny.

Vergil was in his element: meticulous, precise, and looking gorgeous at the same time – the crushed ice went to the bottom, firmly packed to stay in position while the triple dose of cherry sours sunk through them; next came the double shot of vanilla flavoured vodka followed by a healthy dose of fizzy lemonade one finger short of the brim; after adding three raspberries to each glass, four shots of cranberry juice and topping it off with some more ice, the drinks were complete and colourful, the different layers oozing into each other at the tilt of the glass made for a stunning cocktail that held the possibility of keeping you awake for hours or sending you to sleep in minutes, boiling down to how you drank it. "Oh come on it's not that bad. It's tasty, that's all I'm going for."

Dante watched it fizz from a distance, looking like something you would give to someone in the middle of a heart attack. "Anything you make is tasty, Verge. You could have stayed far away from everything in that glass and it would have worked. You're giving a lollipop to the tooth fairy." He might not have noticed the slight nod of coincidence, but his brother certainly did; the half smile dashed onto his face staying true to his style, biting the corner of his lip and raising his glass at the obvious compliment. "Wrong choice of words, let me go again-"

"Think on it all you want, Dante. I have to get back upstairs before things happen without me."

So, they really did it, huh? "Make him sign a disclaimer for that thing." Dante took a sip of his watery masterpiece; he couldn't deny that it was delicious, but one sip took him to the moon and back much faster than any human or demon could achieve. He hoped Vergil knew what he was doing – and above all – specifically who he was doing it with, but he wouldn't mess this up: there was no place in Heaven and Hell for coincidences of this calibre a second time round.

Without a doubt Dante's his mind, the connection was still there.

* * *

"Why does that look like it's going to hurt me?"

He handled a glass in each hand and strategically closed the door with his adorable pink fluffy feet. "It won't, but if it does I'm sure you'll be able to handle it." Vergil handed the spectacle over to a very thirsty Nero who took a tentative sip at first, gulping half of the mixed contents in under three seconds. He knew he had made a mistake while watching the author pluck out two of the three raspberries first, swirling them around his mouth to line the insides in its sourness, swirling the juices around and taking a small sip. He exhumed sophistication and grace in everything he did, making the most tedious task achieve a three-star rating by adding his charm and sleek finesse into every movement of his unrivalled physique.

Nero almost didn't swallow his next mouthful, gaping at the man who stood irrevocably close next to him with his hands in full view. Fully aware that the no-contact thing was going to wear off soon, Vergil playfully encircled Nero in his arm, toying with the waistband at his left hip. The boy gazed up to him with the evening's stars glinting in his eyes, lame and in awe at attempting to find any logical explanation for his exquisiteness. The student laid his head on his broad torso, intently eavesdropping on his rhythmic, enchanting heartbeat while Vergil set a kiss on his temple, drying his mouth once again. "Can I ask you something?"

This was too perfect; that lightning tinge returned in his belly. "Of course."

Nero benevolently looked to the writer, turning so their bodies were aligned with the night's sky; one look into Vergil's silken orbs and his question was lost with the cold morning breeze, that penetrating glare making his heart skip multiple beats at once. He opened his mouth to speak with a very patient Vergil, anticipating words to spill from him any moment; the heat of his stare burned at his cheeks and saturated through the surface of his face, literally rendered speechless at the simplicity of the prospect unfolding before him. "I know this is going to be really difficult for you to answer, but…" He was making this so difficult for himself – he didn't need to look at Vergil to get the words out, but it was too good to resist, watching how his face might transform under the silliness of his request. "For one minute, can you just stop being perfect? Just… bask in the normality of a human being for sixty seconds."

Nero took a sip of his drink waiting for the effects to kick in, a drop at the corner of his mouth not finding the right way into its desired destination; Vergil halted its watery labours with a flick of his tongue and Nero had to resist taking the sharp, talented organ hostage inside him. "This is how I am normally, Nero. I'm not faking or anything-"

"That's not what I mean."

The twin finally grasped the picture, immediately assuming the pounding had done something else to his brain. "You… you think I'm perfect?"

"Please tell me you're joking. You're everyone's dream on two legs."

He had been called many things in his lifetime, but this wasn't one of them. If anything, it was an outright shock to the senses to hear such babble from someone whom he considered flawless in every aspect; he was seeing a part of Vergil that he dared to not reveal to any part of the world, preserved for select few souls who possessed the ability to captivate him at first glance. "Nero, I'm the furthest thing from it-"

"You're the closest thing to my perfect I'll ever get." And there it was: the fierce honesty that Vergil was waiting for, the moment that he would be victim to savouring in the darkest of days and brightest of nights, the words that would define them as strangers hitting an old-fashioned stroke of luck in taking the chance at finding a segment of themselves embedded inside the other, resulting in the miraculous find of the very part of them they had thought they had lost forever. Skin to skin they became complete, a solid accumulation of confidence and inspiration gnawing at their personas just enough to make them forget the world for a few hours and relive the true meaning of what it meant to yearn for and be craved by another.

There were things in this domain beyond other-worldly control; as much as Vergil hated to admit it, thinking otherwise was a detriment to his future, holding onto the concept for as long as he could on every aspect that allowed it. The unjustifiable nonsensicality of him deliberating this as anything other than what it ought to be was as outlandish as his personal vendetta against himself, choosing the complicated route of deep thought and rationality as opposed to permitting himself what he considered an undeserved emotion. Many times had he written about traits of life that made no sense to him, talking issues very similar to this one and making it seem believable enough that he knew what he was talking about. Now, under the pressure of understanding, does he choose to hide it under the carpet because he never expected it to occur?

He could feel Nero's every thought, read his every feeling, being on the tip of his tongue the entire time they shared, as if they had met at a different place at a different time yet still the same as he last was, predicting his moves with ease that accommodated the familiarity of a lover once lost. Before this night he had firmly believed that happiness was a luxury, a glitch in each respective person's matrix that filled the void of a passed, regrettable decision that changed the course of time and available for the lucky few who had lived their lives to the purest extent that was acceptable. Selfish as it may sound, all he wanted a guaranteed return – a life of giving and receiving was in his blood as a writer, putting pretty words and arranging them in the most thought-provoking way to make sense and reaching out to those who needed to hear them. Vergil now saw what he really wanted, yet shameful of consciously declaring it himself; he knew what was missing, and it just so happened to be something he thought he had a long time ago.

And little did he know he was falling harder into his predicament than he had anticipated.

A simple question needed an answer – one so humble he was afraid of answering.

A soothing and honest smile replaced that stubborn frown he inherited from his father, with a drug-induced rush coursing through his veins that didn't come close to anything he had ever felt. Vergil wanted to be his everything, from this night and for the nights that would follow. The velvety sound woke him from his post-revelation daze, surveying him under long eyelashes with a subtle smile from his own contagious one. "Please say something."

Drinks in hand and drunk over something completely different, Vergil began racing through his impressive archives of memorised literature gazing at the moon for encouragement for the most romantic thing to pop in his head. Grabbing the offending glassware, he set them aside at their feet and scuffled closer, the fuzziness of his slippers grazing Nero's bare feet; a single finger at his chin raised his eyes to meet Vergil's, snaking around his neck for concentrated impact of his words. "The time was the beginning of the morning. The sun rising now in fellowship with the same stars that had escorted it when Divine Love first moved those things of beauty," he said, Nero following the Italian literature like a hawk and hanging on every word uttered, holding Vergil across his waist in eagerness of the climax, "so that the hour and the gentle season gave me good cause for hopelessness on seeing this beast before me-"

Nero was close to tears, crashing their lips together in pleading with him to stop; it was too painful to hear, too heart-wrenching to accept as the final curtain call on the best night of his life as a whole – there was only a few hours left to the weekend as it stood, and he was going to spend every waking minute soaked to the brim in his unearthly splendour. "This isn't fair." Thinking back, he saw no other opportunity for Vergil to speak those sacred words to him, ripping his own heart out of his chest and handing it to him as a peace offering of the violent war in his head, fighting with himself to keep as much part of him in reality as he did in his wildest dreams. "I'll never forgive you for this."

The poet pulled him closer. "Nero, I am a broken man with an inaccurate view of reality seeking out literated demise and destruction for the sensible conservation of my own psyche – what gives you the faintest idea that I know what I'm doing?" He did; he just didn't know it. He had done this before, many times, without a single one of them coming into his head; he worked on instinct, entrusting blind faith – another concept he chose not to touch – in his actions and words, hoping they were the right ones. Vergil couldn't remember what was said previously, so he spoke from the heart, putting all that was given to him at risk for a modest request. "Tell me you want me, Nero."

The boy's head snapped up at the fear in his voice, quickly pulling him stronger into his arms with their faces an inch apart, the steam from their breath deliciously fusing in a swirl of passion before disappearing into the air. "You know I do-"

"I want to hear you say it."

Being true to the man that he was, claiming what was rightfully his was right up his alley, and it wouldn't be the first time either. The words escape Nero in the vastest of calm with a slight hitch to his breath for the only sentence that made sense in him the whole time; he was tranquil in composure, finally getting to say what he'd been hiding in the back of his mind since they first met. The boy revered him from below, stepping to his towering creamy frame and interlinking their bond once again, wanting him to see the truth for himself. "I want you, Vergil."

Vergil dipped his head and their lips touched, the force of his next sentiment echoing through Nero's unmitigated desire for him. "Show me."

Nero's sneer was clear as day; getting the chance to ravish the writer one more time, and under his command no doubt, was not something foolishly wasted on the concept of time – whatever was in that glass quaked his brain into overdrive in conjuring the sweetest punishment he could deliver by the truckload, devastating Vergil's state of mind to the purest form of fuck. "Go inside."

The writer obediently conformed to his command, liking the way the new confidence looked on him; if looks could kill, Vergil was in for the best ride to Hell and back. The sliding door closed behind him, a last few deep breaths taken of the clean, cold air as Nero followed suit, ready to use his last chance to set his entire body on fire.

The room was warmer than before, the chill of the outside air left no trace on either of their bodies. Vergil stood at one corner of his bed closest to the door, leaning one arm against the sturdy post with an expression that begged to be sucked, poked, and prodded in whatever way possible. Nero joined him at the post, toying with the hem of his vest as he slowly removed it over his head, folding it neatly into a makeshift tourniquet and tying him to the post by his hands and forcing his body to stretch against his bonds; he pulled Vergil against him, running his hands all over the tight skin on his back with crushing kisses over his lips and neck, moving simultaneously downward until he was on his knees. Nero cupped his behind and pushed his hips forward into his face, biting at the bulge protruding through his sweats creating just the right amount of friction he needed to get him started; he reached into Vergil's pants and his erection sprung free getting its first whiff of morning air and comfortably hardening in Nero's grasp. He flattened his tongue over his length from his tip to his base, scaling and tasting the organ in all its weighted glory, tilting his head upward just in time to see Vergil's eyes roll in the back of his head and the rest of his body hit the post in untainted torment, parted lips complementing an arching back the moment Nero's mouth enclosed his tip, sucking the nerves dry as his hands continued to push him deeper inside his mouth. The blood in his body drained at assisting the man below on his quest, feeling the veins in his penis fill at his touch, his tongue caressing them individually and working down to his silky base, short nips of his teeth causing him to unintentionally buck his hips forward and grip on the post to hold himself together. Vergil purred into him, the small sound coming from deep in his chest to convey his uttermost content at his actions, seeing stars under his lidded eyes the deeper Nero took him. He was at the halfway mark, his partner's length twitching at the start of his snug throat when he pulled his hallowed cheeks off him, gathering the slick salty precum spilling from his tip.

Nero stood, pumping his penis slowly to keep him at bay, using his other hand to loosen the ties above Vergil's head. "I don't like this. I can't see what I'm doing to you." He caught his victim's arms and set him carefully on the edge of the bed, Vergil using all his strength to remain in a seated position while Nero steadily eliminated his last piece of clothing out of the equation, tugging it over his long legs and blindly tossing it behind him. He nuzzled between them, catching a swift kiss from Vergil as he sunk to his happy place; he remained seated as Nero resumed his position, the sharp lines of his jaw chaffing his inner thighs as his head bobbed, his length now almost entirely disappearing into his mouth. The author growled this time, feeling those familiar pink sponges at the flesh on his base and gripping at clumps of hair in both his hands to keep him still for a couple of thrusts. Nero obliged, holding his mouth and lips at an acceptable gap for him to plunge into his throat, soothingly precise at the depth and the feel of him constricting around his sensitive hardness, moans by the mouthful finding their way to the edge of the dangerous orifice.

Vergil wasn't used to receiving pleasure, finding his release mainly on the responses to him doling it out; owing to his overbearing need for control over all situations, something like this was too far out of his league of conception, thinking it absolutely ridiculous to pass over the torch in the bedroom and have himself crumble under the actions of another and not the other way around. He never anticipated his request to be taken to heart, not counting on Nero's intense need to want to pleasure him and the exact extent thereof; to say he loved to be on the receiving end would spark a mental battle in trying to hold himself together while at the same time allowing his inhibitions to melt under his new fascination – the feel of his tongue and mouth were more than he could handle, watching his penis simply dissolve into him, that clutch around his thick, muscular thighs holding him into place, those groans contracting his oesophagus and squeezing every last bit of liquid sanity from his frame; it all felt so right.

His body arched into Nero's movements, his legs spread wide to accommodate the gateway to his own demise who relentlessly gave him no option but to sit back and enjoy the view, each bob of his head never following a direct pattern and therefore unanticipated by the control freak spread-eagled on his back. Nothing short of perfected profanity left him in a deeper tone, warning his punisher of an oncoming release worse than the one before. Nero took him long and deep, alternating in pace making his moves unpredictable to Vergil and surrendering any hope of him making through his demand in one piece. His cum spilled into and over his mouth, swallowing the few dregs that made their way directly to his throat and drinking up the rest tainting his blushing length, moaning as he took him whole for the last time with him observing Nero drawing his flesh upward and sapping the remaining cum with a small pop at his tip's exit to reality. The writer was a complete mess on the sheets, his body shuddering in the extreme high of getting his ass handed to him in more ways than one; he dry-heaved his aching chest to a relative calm, his legs still spread wide for fear of more bodily fluid making a clean leave from his throbbing, tender body.

Nero shed his clothing at the foot of the bed and mounted his finest masterpiece, his penis hard and harsh on Vergil's entrance as he hiked his legs up at the back of the knee, pushing his form further forward to the centre of the bed. "The path to paradise begins in Hell, right Vergil?"

He couldn't have been more right.


	8. Sunday afternoon

_Obaudire:_

 _Beneath the covers of my sanity hides a light of gold so pure;  
_ _it sleeps with my darkness, cuddling on coarse skin with smoothness as clear as day  
_ _rattling the chains of every bad word, thought and deed  
_ _to ever escape my cracked, bleeding, parcelled flesh.  
_ _The memories flood back on a chariot of fire, cauterising past offences  
_ _and the many sleepless nights left in my wake,  
_ _unobstructed by the bittersweet melody of your breath leaving your lungs  
_ _under shudders of temptation and awe.  
_ _Bold, angelic features twist between sheets of silk,  
_ _reflecting my disorientation of unbridled satisfaction  
_ _against the soft devilish curves of my own demise.  
_ _My hands burn at the strain of your perfection, raptured in your every motion and blinding me,  
_ _undeserving of the new rhythm reverberating through the depths of my being.  
_ _And here you are:  
_ _oblivious to the world as I lay next to you with all I have to give,  
_ _bearing everything unworthy of a second glance._

Vergil fiddled with the pencil between his fingers, biting the bitter wood as he read over the words countless times; he stole peeks of the man lying next to him, sleeping soundly under the sheets – his bare shoulders uncovered, the deep breaths calming every muscle of his unconscious visit to the land of cotton-candy fluff far away from reality. His creamy skin glowed without light, providing the writer with a view every woman and man would envy to wake up to, his broad should barely allowing his head to reach the feather pillow. The bite made him flinch, however, seeing the mark stain his body as a constant reminder of his loss of rationality in the heat of splendour, but also serving as the all-embracing moment he decidedly flipped the switch in his head to permit the hatred welling deep inside of him to burst free in a cloud of dark smoke, dispersing under their heated frames and evaporating with their mutual innocence at declaring their proliferating infatuation with each other.

He set his pad and pencil to his left, shuffling closer to the peaceful figure and setting a quick timid kiss at the back of his neck. Gooseflesh erupted under his loving caress, followed by the soft crinkling of his bedding to cater for the stirring creature alongside him; Nero turned, eyes glued shut in fatigue paired with an adorable yawn as he faced Vergil, his bright blue eyes beaming as he sneaked into his arms lying his head on the expanse of his chest. He pinched the underside of his thigh below the covers for good measure, relishing in the very real person next to him as not a figure of his imagination. "Good morning."

Vergil was dreamy: donning a white shirt open at the collar, pressed black slacks showing the right amount of tightness, and his hair in its usual perfect style, he looked fresh out of a magazine photo shoot designed for women over the age of forty needing more than their usual fix to get the juices flowing; his body stretched seductively across the dark linen, the sheets pooling around him like the black seas worshipping the foreign deity he was. The rasping edge to Nero's voice took him back to yesterday, the hoarse yelps under delectable pressure embedded deep within his cerebral cortex – Vergil's strong arm pulled the student close, planting a burning kiss so harsh he had to lift himself off the bed to keep it connected, hovering over the author's face as he dug deeply into Nero's messy bed-hair and deepening the kiss to the back of his throat. The poor boy received a wake-up call destined for pre-onset insomnia for the next two weeks – it was one in the afternoon, and Vergil gave zero fucks to the fact that Nero had just woken up. "Sleep well?"

He nodded against the clean crispness of Vergil's chosen attire, moulding to his side trying to get his bearings. "I'll never win, will I?"

A deep, light, vibrating chuckle left the twin, watching Nero catch the breath he lost inside his mouth. "I've been awake much longer than you; I couldn't wait anymore." Vergil's hand traversed under the covers and trailed his fingertips up and down his naked back, the younger man purring against his soft skin. "If you think about it hard enough, you'll realise this is your fault."

And he would have it no other way: his heart surged at the view above, so effortless in his endeavour at being the irresistible monster he was, flipping his world on its axis with single look his way or the lightest of touches; never in his wildest dreams would he have thought it possible, falling deeper and deeper into a trap he couldn't get enough of, attempting to rope himself in Vergil's complicated web with no solution in sight. It was them and only them in an intricate spell of admiration and understanding, the ordinary made extraordinary between the two individual hearts dancing to the same rhythm and beating on the same wavelength, envious of the emotion triggered by the other.

Nero swam in the pool that was his brain, clinging to the ledges for safety only to be dragged back in at the tangible sincerity of it all; daring to wrench his eyes away from Vergil, he spotted the notepad and writing equipment on the bed, overturned for non-visibility for whatever he was working on. "Were you writing something?" And it dawned on him; he missed the prospect of catching the writer in his element, drawing inspiration from nothing and transpiring them into words the way only he knew how. This was every student's dream, following every letter and brushstroke of the paintings their favourite authors painted, in awe of producing work of the finest calibre before their very eyes – but here Nero was, sleeping. "Oh my god, were you writing something?"

Vergil blushed, the nature of the work he had constructed a few minutes prior was unlike anything he had ever ventured doing. "It's nothing, Nero-"

"What do you meeeeeaaaaaan nothing?" He was visibly upset at himself, sitting on his knees and covering the rest of his body with the thick duvet. "I've just missed the one time I could have seen you in your domain, rich with information on an upcoming chapter or sequel-"

"It's neither of those things." He chuckled as he let the pad slip between the wall and the base of the bed, the same ritual he practiced with everything he dubbed insignificant and a nuisance to any party involved. "It's not important, okay? Even if it were, it wouldn't make sense." Vergil couldn't explain why, but revealing how he truly felt for Nero would open a brand new can of worms for every facet of their lives, opting to brood in silence rather than to admit how madly in love he was; he had always considered himself unfit for anything other than writing, emotions included, and as such neglected to prosper the influence it might hold over him – he refused to acknowledge the changed person he'd be, how much happier it would make him to get the words of his chest, but also realising how unfair it would be to interfere with Nero's studies at such a crucial time.

Melancholy graced his features as the student shifted closer, crawling across the gap that separated them and pulled his portion of the covers over Vergil's body, straddling him under the sheets and placing both his hands flat on his clothed chest. Things didn't add up. "Vergil, what are you talking about?"

The twin cradled Nero's face in his hands, taking the utmost care in honouring the most chaste soul he would ever bond with. "Please forget it, Nero. It's nothing for you to worry over-"

"You're making me worry." After a yearning peck to the lips, he leaned forward and rested their foreheads together, pleading with the small voice in the other man's head to say what was on his mind. He longed for Vergil to confide in him; seeing him suffer alone in silence was something he couldn't bear to watch. His arms supported his frame against the headboard, not wanting to crush him any more than he appeared. "Talk to me."

They were in each other's bubble once more, for an entirely, more serious reason. "I'm not good… with words..." His eyes beheld Nero's face in all its brilliance, wanting nothing more than to devour him piece by piece until there was nothing left, delving into his selfishness in keeping him to himself to occupy every sand of time wasted on denying the one thing he never knew could make him this happy. It wasn't just the view, it was the feeling: something as menial as lying in his bed was not destined to awaken the flux of raging butterflies in his belly nor was it meant to set his skin on fire, sweating under the intensity of an icy blue stare designed to rock his world for the rest of his days. "God, I could never get over this."

Nero bit at his own bottom lip, sucking Vergil's counterpart and dragging it into his mouth, speaking through clenched teeth. "You won't have to-"

A knock sounded at the door – a blessing in disguise as the grip was released, allowing the author to reply in a high-pitched tone. "Who is it?"

He imagined the most sour, confused smile to split Dante's face in two, his small head tilt and signature shake to his hips on the other side of the door. "You're adorable. Are you decent?"

He looked over his own much clothed body, just to make sure. "Very much so."

A tiny chuckle sounded. "Fine; is Nero decent?"

Vergil raised a questioning eyebrow to the man on his lap; starting at the tips of his fingers against the headboard, he gripped at the skin while tracing his fingers down Nero's body – he straightened his spine and lifted his legs, boxing the poor boy in his clutches as his hands continued to locate any form of covering; upon reaching his calves and definitely certain no stitch of anything was over him, Vergil pulled him close by the supple skin on his ass, causing inappropriate fiction on the sensitive bundle of nerves between the student's legs. "Very much not."

Nero bit his lip at the surprise action, feeling every stitch of the harsh fabric. "He'll come in, right?"

The writer used his tongue to alleviate the stress on his lip. "Of course he will. It'll take more than a bit of skin to scare him off."

The younger man made himself comfortable to stretch, arching his back into the motion of clicking the bones in his arms and back into place, reaching to the roof of his four-poster while Vergil got a front row seat at the display of primal masculinity, the moans of satisfaction at tense bubbles popping inside his shoulders and the muscles contorting under his extended chest, allowing Vergil the filthiest thoughts on what he could achieve with his nimble frame in his grasp. "This is more than a bit-"

"Oh well, nothing I haven't seen." They had completely forgotten the other body outside the door who let himself in, closing the door to prevent the cold from wafting through and endless complaints from his brother. He looked up at the pretty picture on the bed; Nero's hands tousled in his hair and the impressive expanse of his broad back in full view of the younger twin, and a fully dressed Vergil with his hands spread over the student's flexible buttery hips. Dante possessed the same knack of pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation, an annoyed sigh escaping his lips. "Vergil, how many times do I have to tell you that you have to be naked as well for sex to work? I got you a book and everything."

His attention was yanked from his brother as Nero felt himself down from his neck and shoulders to his torso, over his pecks and abs for them both to enjoy. Teasing the twins simultaneously added a new dimension to the afternoon, and finding which interests he had peaked in the brother at the door would be another adventure he wouldn't mind exploring. "Dante, we're not having sex; he just climbed on top if me and history wrote itself-"

"He mounted you to rip your clothes off so you could, you idiot." Either Vergil was undeniably smart at playing coy in not divulging the direct effect he had on the boy, or the air was too cold for his intelligence to kick in this late in the day. Nevertheless, that immaculately blank face toyed with both their heartstrings, missing the overall purpose to Nero's pursuits. He gave a sad smile to the suffering mess on his brother's lap, feeling the desperation of a building climax deep within the boy's core that he was too shy to voice. Dante gave his brother a look of foolish appreciation; yes, he had succeeded, but how much of the reunion was going to be left by his own illogical thinking? I was bad enough that an outsider had to spell it out for him, but then again, his comprehension of Nero's body went further than this second encounter. "You're still in his system, brother; you need to fuck it out."

 _Or I will…_

Nero fixed his hands on Vergil's shoulders and dug in, controlling the fire that was initiated at the writer's soft touches along the bones of his ribcage. "He's just fine. Besides, I know how much you hate going down to the doughnut place so I figured I could go today." The man below was beginning to feel it, slumping further onto the bed from his previous position to gage the rest of the boy in his naked glory, shifting underneath him at the uncomfortable tightness in his slacks and affording a breathy moan from the man above.

Vergil concealed as much as he needed to, with Dante only seeing the effects of their mischievous banter from an awkward angle. "You really don't have to-"

"I do, Dante." He swapped their positions on the bed, ensuring that all of Nero's good bits were covered. "We both know I do."

* * *

 _"Are you sure you want to leave him like that?"  
_ _"You're here, brother-"  
_ _"Yes I am, and if things get out of hand you'll lose him for good."  
_ _"You overshooting your skills, Dante?"  
_ _"I'm undercompensating for your ego… You sure you want me to do this?"  
_ _"I don't mind, and I highly doubt he will-"  
_ _"Vergil, this is a mistake-"  
_ _"I know you want to, Dante. I can't see why you think something is stopping you."  
_ _"He's yours-"  
_ _"I don't own him, brother. He can make any choice he wants."  
_ _"But you love him-"  
_ _"And what's the point if I can't say it? He will be gone in a few hours and all of this will be meaningless."  
_ _"You don't mean that."  
_ _"I don't. I need fresh air to get my head into gear and see this for what it is and not what it's meant to be."  
_ _"Is this going to make you happy?"  
_ _"For once, stop thinking about me and think about yourself. I won't be mad if you do, I really won't."  
_ _"Don't make me do this – don't leave me alone with him."  
_ _"I have to, and you know it."_

The conversation happened quick as a flash as Vergil left the two in his bedroom, departing for the fresh air and doughnuts he supposedly needed. Nero lay under the covers as the elder twin had left him, patting a small area on the bed to his right pleading with Dante to take a seat; he moved slowly toward the bed, deep in contemplation about the unheard words spoken by his sibling, seeming to see something there that clearly wasn't. As he sat, he could feel the weight Vergil had dumped on Nero, leaving him alone with his thoughts and deep most feelings when it should be the two of them talking things through on the next few steps to take for their budding romance, but as per usual he was left to clean up his brother's mess and do the dirty work for him; as far as they were both aware, he was never good at the emotional part of anything, and he assumed things would be a bit different with Nero.

And they were; out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the notepad he had hidden earlier out of sight of the boy, one of his trademark moves when the anguish and turmoil of something he couldn't comprehend put words in his head – beautiful, wispy, challenging thoughts onto paper – and would toss it aside to not make it as real as it was, thinking that hiding the canvas was enough for the thoughts in his head to melt away as easily as it slid out of sight. If only it were that easy. Picking up the wad of paper, Dante read over the single verse etched in Vergil's unmistakable handwriting and looked toward the complex figure on the bed, fighting with his brain to not show the poor soul what he really meant to the brooding disaster. "He didn't want me to see it, so I'm going to respect his wishes."

Dante nodded along to his words, pursing his lips at the stark difference in his brother's work from previously to the lines he read in the furthest of detail. "Do you want to see it?"

Nero shook his head. "He doesn't wanna talk to me, and I think it would be easy for him for me to just read what he's thinking and I don't think that's fair." He sat up from his previous position, wallowing in the coolness of the headboard and resting his head to sooth his aching mind. "Is it wrong to want to hear him say it, whatever 'it' may be?" He laid his hands on either side of his body, mentally exhausted from overthinking and replaying the events of the morning. Everything had been going so well, so enviously smooth that an itch at the back of his head told him something was bound to go wrong. "Why won't he speak to me, Dante?"

The twin was still analysing the poem, reading between the lines as per his brother's writing and seeing a more sorrowful picture rise to the surface; he unconsciously clutched at Nero's hand closest to him, bringing it to his lips and dusting his knuckles with the faintest kisses and moving progressively to him in the hope of salvaging the feelings his brother had spoken of. "Vergil isn't good with words. Never has been and never will be; it's at this very moment when I'd stress the importance of patience, buuuuut…" There wasn't time. There wouldn't have been enough if it had started at the very beginning, and this was something Nero realised well into their evening with one another. "Did he say anything to you?"

The boy pulled to twin further onto the bed to hold his hand in both of his, hoping to gather some strength for their last few hours. "Only that it wouldn't make sense."

He was fixated on the piece. "He was right."

Nero looked hazily out of the glass door to a grey sky, holding the warmth of Dante intimately to his chest. "I understand his work-"

"He meant that it wouldn't make sense to him."

The student couldn't help but laugh at the irony that was so perfectly Vergil. "But he wrote it."

"Exactly." Dante finished the entire picture of distress and disarray, sliding the pad on the floor to the furthest corner of the wall and concentrating the remainder of his energy on the very lonely figure on the bed. There was no doubt Nero was smart to the point where his own disillusionment held deeper meaning that anything he would ever accomplish, and it was with this in mind where he thought he had let both himself and Dante down in not being able to crack Vergil's hardened, stubborn, numb shell; why he sought to disappoint two people at once he didn't know, but something told him that the twin was rooting for him somehow, that he greatly wanted him to succeed. In what? Giving meaning to Vergil's existence?

"Should've guessed." Nero tried to move and flinched at the mark on his shoulder; the purplish bruise was seen, scrutinised by Dante for all it was worth; he wasn't surprised in the least, but totally shocked that the boy was able to get his brother into the state of mind of victim and prey, marking his territory yet still having the audacity to lie to him in the face – what a damn contradiction his brother was; the pair on the bed shared a look that extended to the bruise, Nero preparing for a world of hurt as Dante made a beeline for it and feeling nothing but the softness of his lips on the tender flesh, pecking it lightly and formulating the perfect distraction to an otherwise dreary day. "I don't think I've thanked you properly for everything you've done-"

"It seems like I should be apologising. You'll be going home worse than how you were coming in."

Nero could see his reflection in Dante's glasses replicating the sweet smile the editor was giving him to take his mind off the mental battle he was presently having. "Still. Thank you." Their close proximity gave him leeway for a small nod and a kiss to the boy's cheek; he leaned into it, turning his head a split second too late as his lips left his face, only for Nero to pull him into a soft, tentative smooch – Dante immediately took control, their pace irregular and passionate under his command with essence of lingering ecstasy and potency that swirled gently in the confines of Nero's skull, morphing him to an agreeable condition of chaos still within his grasp. He rose to his knees coming face to face with the breathless twin, continuing the fight of dominance as he straddled Dante in blunt nakedness, not caring how he may have appeared in his company; the student bit at the other man's lip, sucking it into his mouth and begging for entry of his tongue – he obliged, licking at the wet organ as they danced with each other's demon, Nero deepening the kiss with his hands on Dante's neck; the editor held him close at his hips, heaving deep breaths against both their chests for them to enjoy.

It was pure shock that they both enjoyed their stolen time together, with neither of them expecting yet wanting what was placed in front of them; could it be said that their bond went deeper than what he had with the writer? In a sense Dante was more human, giving in to human experiences on a basic level and not in the complexities of Vergil's world – granted, the overzealousness was what drew him in in the first place, but something very subtle about the twin reminded him of what Vergil hid away from, as if there were the perfectly constructed puzzle of one or the other, either or, without fault.

Dante placed his hands on the boy's burning cheeks as the kiss died down to a measureable speed, deep strokes and bated breath working in tandem to keep their antics in check; the gentleness of his touch made Nero believe all the more the direct contrast between the two, the practiced lust-filled touch hidden from view for too long. The man below ended it, wrenching away at the wetness of the boy's cheeks flowing against his supple thumb; the ice in his gaze melted along the sides of his face, giving him the motivation to peel at the layers that Vergil conveniently thawed through. "What's wrong?"

He chose not to look for Nero's sake. "This is hard."

Dante gently wiped the tears from his face, staring in utter disbelief at the once strong human being reduced to an emotional mess. This was not how he remembered him. "Do you want me to stop?"

He shook his head wildly. "I'll be fine, I promise." That kiss was too much; too calm to quell the voices in his head and too sweet for him to appreciate. Maybe this was what he needed to clear his head of the hunger-infused venom, wishing it had come at a far sooner time than now. "If you don't mind just lying with me until Vergil comes back, that'd be great."

Unashamedly, one final kiss found its way to the surface, enjoying the innocence of their short-lived encounter; a miniscule pinch to the hips and Dante set him to his right, standing and gathering the only two pieces of clothing he would dare wearing upon entering Vergil's abode. The nakedness was a direct result of their undercover feats and nothing else, feeling guilty at taking the advantage of the wholesome view. "Put these on. We can go to your room." Nero was about to fight it owing to the difference in temperature, but those steel blues fought a harder game when it came to matters of the heart. "You can't be here. There's too much going on in your mind and being in this room won't help you think things through; if there is anything to mull over anyway." Dante waited patiently at the door for him to dress, needlessly facing the opposite direction; at the threshold he took his hand and kissed it as before, lacing their fingers as a thoughtful gesture to Nero that he was free to talk about whatever was getting him down and that he'd be there for him; it was a slow walk to his room, made comfortable by the towering man lying under the covers and holding them open for the boy to snake in and burrow into his arms, enveloping him in the most safe environment he as a single person could create. "Don't let this eat you alive, Nero; it's going to, I know that, and I'm here if you need me."

He tilted his head to gaze into an icy stare. "Any words of wisdom hidden behind that wonderful head of hair?"

Dante put on his thinking face, already having one of Vergil's best lines in the back of his head. " _In truth, we strive to make others happy instead of elating them in our happiness. We can only go so far to redeem our remorse in the company of those who wish a downpour upon our souls, seeking to destroy nothing for their own goodwill._ "

Nero expelled a weighty breath into Dante's chest, absorbing every ounce of regret and sadness through his pores as he stroked his hair and embraced him as tightly as possible, the first wave of tremors vibrating through the boy's broad shoulders.

* * *

Vergil returned in a stupor, dumbstruck at the words that had fallen from his mind's lips when he last left the apartment. Sugary treats in tow, he needlessly scoured his abode for the two life forms he abandoned yet again, wishing that his brother had not heeded the missed desperation in his words and gone through with what he had asked him to do; he had misjudged the impact of the action, the consequence of the aftermath, as well as the toll on his world he never thought possible to exist. He was in love, and he saw that now, and to his own stupidity he had set his brother – his gorgeous, intelligent, brawny brother – to take Nero's mind off things for a bit in the most damning manner possible. He assumed his revelation kicked in much too late, knowing Dante and his obsession to blindly follow every order and obey every command set out by him, sometimes against his better judgement, yet not thinking about how his own choice would consume him from the inside out was horrifying to say the least. It had been less than the hour he normally took to collect the Sunday teatime goodies, and his lungs were burning a deeper shade of crimson at the amount of work he dumped on them in such a short time.

He took a chance and went to the spare room; Dante had a tendency to pick his lovemaking spots a bit closer to home, taking the other half into consideration meaning any place as far away from anything Vergil as possible, and sure enough there they were; sleeping soundly, Nero's face rose and fell with Dante's chest while enveloped in the bigger man's arms, his traditional unforgiving crush that melted all your stress and troubles into one chaotic heap and discarded from memory the minute you fell into a deep sleep; the student's hands were crumpled in his shirt as if vaguely touched by a bad unconscious thought that Dante managed to slap away in his titanium grip, his muscular arms around the boy's back protecting him from every form of loneliness he might feel, isolated in his wondrous and ever-present aura intoxicating to the max. Their bodies close and entwined by the leg and their faces separated by a single hair's width, the pair were a picture-perfect representation of the only thing he never permitted himself to dream of.

Like clockwork Dante's eyes opened slowly, shifting the bed and caused Nero to stir; he held him close, not wanting to wake him from his much needed rest, until his eyes met ones of equal cerulean, ashamed, afraid, and feeling guilty at disturbing the peace. Vergil couldn't bring himself to leave – his brother made it look so simple, so flawless to lay there with Nero in his arms undistracted by the flurry of undermining external factors that were too unimportant to even bother with. "Don't leave. Please."

He tore his gaze from the bed, the question more undesirable to ask than the need to know. "It's clear that I've interrupted something-"

"Yes; he's sleeping, getting the rest he missed out on and has forced me to wake him when you eventually got home." Nero stirred again and Dante laid a soothing hand on his back, massaging until he found the dip in his chest and nuzzled into it. "It took ages to calm him down, and he needs to stay this way until we're done."

It should be him appeasing Nero. He needed to lie there and hold him so close they almost became one. "We're done what?"

"Talking." Dante looked up at him with a blank face, like the answer should have been right in front of him.

"We don't need to talk-"

"Yes! We! Fucking! Do!" His whispers were harsh and poisoned, striking Vergil unnecessarily in the torso for no other reason than pure shock at the change in his demeanour. "You have never seen me angry, and for all intents and purposes I intend to keep it that way." Nero unconsciously cuddled closer, wrapping his arm on Dante's neck. "I will be out soon – getting out of this will be tricky so turn the machine on while you're at it. If you don't want to talk, fine. But then you have to find it within yourself to be okay with having your little brother whack some sense into you." He saw what this was doing to Vergil and it wasn't a pretty sight; he covered the limb with his own, placating the grip with small grazes of his thumb. The twin's both looked directly at Nero in his most composed form. "I won't have you walk away from this again."

Was his worst fear about to come true? Was offering Nero to Dante one of the biggest mistakes he's ever made? Why did he think that would have been okay? Could it have been enough to just be around him, have his presence wander all day within his sights, no sex, no titles, but just have him near? Would all of that be okay, knowing he shared Dante's bed instead of his, and as he continued on his miserable writing for the world to read and nod along, his reality crumbled for not taking a stand for the sole individual he knew gave his life purpose? Was he really thinking he couldn't make Nero happy? "Do you not prefer for him to be with you-"

"Don't you dare make this about me or my feelings toward him and vice versa – this is all you."

Too many questions and too little answers – he was overthinking the entire thing and he needed to stop. Soon. "Oh. So there is something-"

"I'm not going to entertain your idiocy while in this vice grip. Can I please have some space?"

Never had Dante ever spoken to him in that tone before; he knew he was a handful, but two punches to the ribs from the people he cared about most wasn't something he was fit to handle. He left without a word, just a wounded, broken expression to his brother as Nero stirred yet again, his body painfully aware of the presence leaving the space. The younger brother traced his jaw softly, placing a lingering kiss on the student's forehead that woke him gently; those pure, clear oceans watching him break into a smile from below. "Hey."

He hated being woken up. "You're so warm."

Nero took advantage of their closeness, snuggling into his neck and rubbing his nose along Dante's jaw; the space he'd created was mesmerising, providing the student with the person that he needed in that moment in becoming a reflection of Vergil that was meant to be with him in talking things through. "Vergil's home-"

"I know." He shifted to Dante's height on the bed, tenderly laying his forehead on his cheek and coaxing his face to his side. "So don't leave."

He crushed him against his broad chest, the flimsy white t-shirt not doing much to conceal the beastly appeal on full display for Nero to tuck into at will; Dante knew what he was trying to do, psyching himself to not give a spark of fire to the box of fireworks he vigilantly collected and packaged neatly inside his pelvis. "I have to speak with him-"

"Later; right now I need you to stay with me."

He gave him a look as he felt the lukewarm pads of his fingers play with the hem of his shirt, feeling his way up his back as his leg tucked around Dante's to pull them even closer. "Nero-"

"Dante, he's a big boy; I just need you here for a bit longer."

The rude awakening was not what Nero had expected: he had chosen the wrong time for his primal urges to show and the twin was in no mood to entertain them while in his position, nor with the proper victim standing three steps away and waiting for a stern talking to about the very man who was practically throwing himself to him owing to the hard knock his rational subconscious had taken upon Vergil's leave – Dante flipped the tables on him, literally, forcing him on his back while he hovered between his legs and patiently stalled for any sign to not move any further; none as such glided to the surface as he faced Nero at his most vulnerable, slightly out of breath and standing at the cliffs of his own luxury when he caved in, melting into his mouth and consequently his form, wilder and harder than their previous covet upstairs; the younger twin collapsed into him in a potent and devastating embrace, moving his body weight to his forearms while his hips ground Nero into the softness of the mattress and allowed a surprise gasp to escape his mouth. The bigger man stopped his attack, centred on triggering warning signals to the boy about the dangers of what he was asking but Nero was ignoring them all, leaning on his elbows to continue the struggle with his mind and heart at opposites sides of the dinner table; tears were threatening to spill over as he clambered to his pillar of support, crystal blue eyes fighting an internal battle with every demon inside of him willing him into the arms of the helpless man below – failing – and supressing his face into the bed under a yearning, blistering kiss that brought his body to spasm, jaggedly moaning into Dante's mouth and entwining his fingers in the silver roots the second he had the chance. He was much easier to figure out than his brother – he was abstract, letting you figure out what you wanted and giving you the answers you were looking for without having to put up a fight; his kiss was nothing short of raw, unadulterated want illustrated under calculated and refined skill, commanding your body with the tamest of advances and having your foundations spiralling out of your- and into his control.

Nero moaned a second time, urging him to take what he wanted; they were both too smart for their own good, halting the kiss all together as Dante snuck his hand under the boy's neck to tickle the fine baby hairs on his neck, resting their foreheads together. "You are hurting and I understand, but now isn't the best time to deflect anything you're feeling onto me. I'm here and you know that, but I can't and won't fill his place."

He moved further into his scalp, hoping to relax him. "I don't want that-"

"Then what do you want from me, Nero? I have nothing to give." Dante opened his eyes and the sadness in them broke his heart to pieces; the accompanying smile did nothing to take his attention off the vibe he received under the sorrowed stare. "Not what he can," he says, catching the blue rose in the corner of his eye, standing lonely yet unyielding on the side dresser and everything clicked into place.

The crunch at the back of his head told him all he needed to know. "Dante, please just listen-"

"I only have the courage and the words to do this now. I miss it, and you might never get your answer." He sat up and climbed out of his grasp, sitting on the edge of the bed willing a few deep breaths to bring him down from his heightened state of rage; this would not be the first but he wished it was his last, knowing that his brother would be left in Nero's capable hands. "I know how he works; I just need to give those cogs a good dusting by means of a good punch to the face."

Nero fought with the sheets to rest his head on his shoulder. "You don't mean that-"

"Oh he does." The extra voice made their heads turn. He was right outside; of course, nothing could top off the cake quite like Vergil hearing everything he had just did to the boy to climb out of his clutches.

There was a quick peck to temple, crossing his fingers as he stood to face the music. "At least one of us will leave with our heads intact."

Nero waved to grab his attention as he was about to leave. _He won't hurt you._

 _I know. But I've already hurt him._

Vergil was leaning against the outside double wall of the room, his leg bent at the knee with a grave face as he slanted his head to look at his brother; he never enjoyed being scolded by the man three minutes younger than him, nor did he ever take kindly to heeding what he had to say. In the long run, he realised that not everything spewing from his mouth was poppycock, and once learning the hard way that being his own personalised version of an ignorant bastard nearly cost him his life. From then on, he put the ornaments on the side of his head to good use, not once regretting the decision, and comprehending that his brother was in fact on his side through thick and thin. "I have made a mistake. I see that now-"

"I thought we agreed I do the talking." How swiftly the title of younger and older sibling had adjusted to their situation demonstrated just how dependent on each other they were, how much respect they harboured for the other and the downright love and inspiration that flowed between them. "Everything floating in your head? Dump it. Every ounce of you you've dedicated to hating yourself for thirty two years? Throw it away. Every single voice in that head telling you you're nothing, that you don't deserve your success and that being miserable is your only option, disintegrating alone in that godforsaken study of yours? Shut them up. Your mind is strong-willed, determined, and it's humbling – standing on the side lines watching you do what you do is nothing short of a miracle, brother. You need to get to grips with your worth to this world and the people around you; the more your self-worth ceases to exist, the more it won't be reflected in anything you say or do." Dante's voice was cracking under the pressure and issue at hand – it broke his heart every time, saying the same thing over and over to try and get the message into his head; the irony that his was the one aspect to his life that went out the other ear. "All I'm going to ask is that you be kinder to yourself. If you don't you 'll lose sight of what's important, what matters most-"

"Dante, I'm scared to want this."

It was Dante's turn to step back. Never once had Vergil admitted being afraid of anything, but he looked so calm, not an inch of stress to his name as he uttered the words, implying it went deeper than a simple fear for him to categorise and process and move on with the next task on his schedule. Dante nudged his head and he picked himself off the wall, and they moved together meeting at the halfway point. "Don't feel guilty for loving him. Don't beat yourself up on something you have no control over."

It was a good point – too good a point given the circumstances, and Vergil even found himself chuckling at how naive he was being over something so ostentatiously straightforward. "I don't know what to do-"

"You do." The younger put his hands on his brother's shoulders, squeezing his momentary lapse of judgement out of his system and gave him a quick smack to the side of his head. "You know my sole purpose in life is to ensure your happiness, and I will do so even if I have to kick you in the nuts with the force of one thousand and fifty seven lost souls of the damned. If that keeps you smiling then my job is done; I'll do anything for you – remember that. If you let him in, I'll do anything for him as well." It was time. "And speaking of which-" Dante stepped to the side and revealed a very flustered, quiet, brave yet equally puzzling, and still relatively sleepy Nero at the gap in the wall, whom Dante knew had heard everything; he marched out of their line of vision, sneaking to his brother's side and mouthed the words over his shoulder.

 _Make him work for it._

Translation: make him suffer.

This was Nero's forte; he walked out of the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest with the blankest look of boredom shadowing every facial feature. "Make it quick. I don't have all d-"

Vergil was already on the move, extending a lone finger to his lips and kissing him fiercely; it was hot and unlike anything they had shared over the past two days – it was obvious he had had just about enough of feeling dejected at condemning his feelings for him, thrusting them away like a crumpled, dirty piece of scribbling paper only to find himself digging through the trash and returning it to its previous smooth state, a single sentence staring him the face that not only completed an unfinished chapter but spurred on a few more. He gazed at the clean canvas before him, wanting nothing more than to ready his pen and pencil to create his greatest masterpiece yet. "I love you, Nero."

And time stopped – all three beings very alert of the three words now looming over the room.

Blushing at the sensory overload, Nero glanced over Vergil's shoulder. "I'm sorry Dante, I did all I could-"

"You did nothing!" He had to admit, they looked so damn good together. "Please just go to your room – I don't want to see either of you for a half an hour minimum." He began pacing the second sitting room with his hands comically massaging his temples, attempting to 'zen' out of reality when all Vergil and Nero could do was watch it play out, arms wrapped around one another. " _God, I need coffee, and the machine is taking too long, so much stress in one damn day, can't catch a fucking break can I, have to do eeeeeeeeeeeeverything myself and what do I get? Not coffee, that's what I don't get but at least people are smiling, do you know what else makes people smile? Coffee-_ "

"DANTE!" Vergil's voice was deep and menacing, booming across the entire apartment and bubbling deliciously between Nero's legs; this was something he had never seen, never imagined to see, and couldn't unsee: it wasn't anger per say but rather exasperation, noting the tone and volume for the soul purpose to snap Dante out of whatever trance he had set upon himself.

"Thanks bud." He blew out the excess air in his lungs as he reversed into the kitchen. "I'm just gonna-"

"Make a full one so you have some for later."

He bowed deeply, disappearing behind the wall housing his strong and creamy salvation. Vergil turned his attention to his lover, his tongue ardent at needing to be all over him. "Go on upstairs; I want a minute to scold my brother for that earful."

Nero nodded; trying to comprehend their twinsanity went beyond any book and any teaching he may ever cross. "Just let him keep his head, okay?" He made a quick escape through the lounges, journeying through the kitchen and observing a much happier Dante sipping and savouring every sip of his long-awaited reward; creeping in by the sink, he took his open hand and kissed them along his knuckles, flipping them over and pecking the pulse at the twins' wrist. _I owe you one._

The burly man winked at him while taking a sip of his bitter cocaine. _I'll keep it in my back pocket._

The boy bit his lip and moved to the staircase, keeping his eyes on Dante until he was out of view. Vergil came around the corner from the same side, stopping directly in front of him and leaning against the cold granite of the counter. His brother faced him, mirroring his stance in favour of balancing the mug in his grasp. "Nero is waiting for you – I'll get the pool heated while you change."

He held the last swig of coffee in his mouth as he placed his mug on the counter, grabbing his smiling brother at the back of the neck and pushing their mouths together in an epic collusion of power and hypnosis, letting him drink the substance from his mouth. The froth lingered on Vergil's tongue as they broke free, having to use his thumb to gather the leaked beverage from the corners of his mouth. He sucked at the pads, tasting the last remnants of Dante's invigorating scent mixed in with the cuppa. "Of all the things you think I deserve, you are most certainly not one of them."

He poured another without the addition of milk or sugar as he ran a single digit up Vergil's throat and ending at his chin; the younger handed it over to be finished in five gulps. "The king must protect his castle, must he not?"

* * *

 _"I want you to swear to me you'll always be here; Vergil isn't Vergil without you. He needs you. I need you." The voice from above made no sense. "I don't think you understand what you are asking me." Neither did the one below, knowing well what he was implying. "I know full well what I'm asking, Dante – the two of you are one; one cannot be without the other and neither can I." He held him carefully, slowly sinking him onto his lap. "It's madness; it's breaking an unspoken oath between the two of you." He could barely get the words out. "It's something I will risk if that means keeping him here with us." He was now facing the ceiling, his argument almost unheard by his counterpart. "A future is at stake, Nero." His eyes followed the ecstasy. "Yes it is, Dante. Yes it is." He adopted a higher pitch to cater for the situation._

The conversation spun inside his head one hundred times too many, even seeing the reflection of the phrases in the pool water as he adjusted it to the correct temperature – it was burned into his brain, flowing in and out of the filter countless times to strip it bare, sensing the deeper meaning behind it yet still failing to see how it all made sense; how it tied him in to the complicated whirlpool that his brother was, making it one step more difficult for him to carry out his plan to the very end.

Dante left the pool to do its business, moving to the kitchen countertop and seeing the damned red leather peeking at the corner; he was the only one confident around it, knowing the adverse effects it held over others but none to him, glossing through the pages one by one with not so much as a paper cut as evidence for rifling between Vergil's private matters. The sound of a door opening halted his discoveries and hid the book on a bar stool out of view as two pairs of fuzzy slippers made their way down the staircase sporting matching deep grey robes. From experience Dante knew it covered nothing but their bare bodies. He was calm and cool, the usual Dante back at it with his sharp wit and even sharper jaw with a plastered smile across his face. "Oh no, matching already?"

Vergil pulled Nero along behind him, his milky chest already gleaming in a thin layer of sweat. "I live in one tone, brother; you of all people would know that-" and then he looked at his brother properly. "Are you okay? You look really pale."

Dante occupied himself with pulling off stray pieces of cotton from his shirt as he walked closer to the pair, lifting the coarse material just over his navel as the waistband of his sweats could be seen much lower, kept safe by his shapely hips but still hanging treacherously low. He spoke with his head bowed, too engrossed in his task and secretly ashamed to look his brother in the eye. "I'm fine; I'm having filter flashbacks and its making me queasy." He lifted his had to be met by two blazing stares, icy to the touch and ravenous in purpose, unable to pinpoint the reason to have them both look at him like the delicious piece of meat he was. Vergil, he understood, but Nero? "Did I miss something? Is there food in my teeth?"

"Dante," his brother began, "I don't think I have to remind you of the dangers you instil on yourself when you lift up your shirt in this apartment."

Nero couldn't take his eyes of the sliver of skin; it was tight under the tension of the working muscle underneath, flat, and rock hard judging by the supple skin at his hips producing the finer dips and creases designed for any being within a one metre radius to fall to their knees under his sexual valour. "Well, it's his fault I'm wearing clothes anyway, so I think I can afford to indulge just a little bit." He did the unthinkable, holding up the shirt with one hand and plucking at the ties with the other, loosening the assisted grip and letting it drop two inches, showing off more for the boy to ogle. "Now that was definitely uncalled for." The younger brother now strung his pants at the better, more flexible position, folding his t-shirt over and hiding what could send both of them over the edge.

Vergil wrapped his arms around Nero's waist, holding him close to his body to feel the effect of Dante's corrupt exploit; staring directly at him the boy's mouth gaped open, arching his back into the fleece covered catalyst for his umpteenth release in two days. "Would you like to join us, Dante?" The request came between kisses and nibbles at the student's neck and shoulder, rendered speechless by their collective labours to subdue him into a dry-mouthed heap of fleshy testosterone.

Oh, he was asking for it: he trekked quietly and carefully to the pair, taking Nero's arms and draping them around his neck, sandwiching him between their resolute cruxes and devastating any thoughts he had about being with both of them at once. Dante focused above while Vergil rattled below, playing their field of expertise down to the last instruction. "As inviting as that sounds, I'm going to have to pass." He forced his eyes open, compelling him to watch as his bottom lip was sucked into the twins' mouth. "You need the afternoon to yourselves, and if you don't give this boy something to suck on in two minutes he's going to explode."

He left them, pulling with him the soft belt of Nero's robe; it unravelled and fell to the floor, with Dante turning his back just in time to not see the arousal seeping from a very prominent pore on the boy's body, speaking to them with his back turned like the clever and daunting fuck he was. "Take as long as you need. I'll make a reservation for an early dinner."

Vergil smiled broadly, running his hands along Nero's fuzzy arms. "See you in a bit then; I don't know how long he'll last after that."

 _It had to be done._

The pair dissolved behind the door quickly and Dante stood for a few minutes to make sure neither of them returned. His beaming smile faded little, grabbing the book on the stool and taking the staircase two by two until he reached his brother's study, punching in the code he embedded in Vergil's brain and hearing the satisfying hiss of the hinges giving him entry. He closed the door behind him softly, the usual loud sound of the door pounding into place replaced with a softer click for the handle to reset in its mechanism.

He wasted no time in moving the huge desk to one side and laying the red leather disaster carefully in the centre of the room with equal space on all four corners. Rebellion caught fire once again, spreading its flames down Dante's arm as he latched onto the demonic hilt and brought it with him to the book. He held the blade firmly, slicing his hand on both edges and allowed the crimson liquid to join at the tip, piercing the novel to the floor. "You wanted to see me?"

The book burst into blue flame, reacting to the other weapon hanging safely on the wall behind him as it glowed a brilliant violet, a thick steam flowing through the pages and taking a form on the rich carpet. Towering over Dante, his massive body and colossal horns swirled like air from the leather; the purple scales never ceasing to produce gooseflesh on Dante's half-human skin and a pair of red eyes that could kill you upon a second glance. Sparda stood resolute in his finest form, mirroring his youngest son with his hands on his hips, head tilted, with that killer smirk his sons were known for. "Not that form; it gives me the creeps."

The figure bowed heavily as if carrying the weight of a tarnished past, transforming to his human state and overtaking his son by miles in every manner. "Forgive me, my Lord-"

He dismissed the remark with a flick of his hand. "Don't mock me father; we are on human territory. Equal playing field."

Equivalent blue eyes gave him the once over, pleased. "But… you are the king of Hell, my son." And a broad smile followed. "Oh, saying that will never get old."

"Glad I could make you proud." Dante huffed at his attempt of being a true father, only when his son's managed to achieve the impossible and do the family name justice. "You sounded chirpy when you called. What's happening?"

Sparda dusted imaginary flecks of dust from his shirt and jeans, disintegrating upon contact of the study floor. "I'm always happy to talk to my son. And speaking of which, how's the other one doing?"

"He's good; probably having mind-blowing sex in the pool as we speak."

Dante had never seen his father blush, now putting to rest which side of the family he inherited his boyish charm from. "Ah, so at last he's met a boy he likes."

"Actually, I-" That darn itch was back. "I managed to find the one from all those years ago: the one that got him out of his initial breakdown the first time?" His father pursed his lips and begged for him to further his explanation with a revolving hand gesture. "The one he lived with for several years?" Still, nothing. "Goodness, the one he'd fallen hopelessly in love with?"

The parent snapped his fingers in acknowledgement. "The blind one?"

Of all the amazing qualities Nero had inherited, that was what Sparda remembered? "The blind one. Vergil restored his sight before I performed the ritual, so he would function normally here on this plane." Dante was flabbergasted at what his brother had achieved in such a short time, teaching his beloved how to fight and defend himself; so strenuous and tiring the training was that he became one of the more feared and respected names in the Underworld – just like his trainer – and officially later on, his lover. And again, almost his husband. They were so in love that forces from the other belligerent realms couldn't come between them; come high water, they battled for one another by their side, separated only by a free shopping spree or the occasional talk Dante would have with each of them alone. He denied either would remember them at this stage, having their lives reborn anew after Dante swore to give them both a life to be proud of.

"Vergil had trained him well; he was such a great warrior. He must be thrilled to have him back."

Dante nodded solemnly, deep in contemplation at just how true his father's words were. "Father, I have never seen him this happy in a really long time; not only do they not recall one another, but they can't recollect any memories they shared or that they had a past in Hell. They are not aware they are in their second life and somehow found their way back into each other's arms." Telling the story of the most infamous couple in the history of Hell was such a joy retell over and over until reality was forced into the equation. Vergil loved wholly with everything he had, investing every part of his being into proving his affection for the one he chose to be his mate – Nero was an entirely different story, hitting him in the middle of an emotional uproaring sandstorm which took countless hours on the battlefield to quell; he helped him along the straight path, unknown that much of his duty had been successful just by loving the man sworn to take care of him. Vergil returned it tenfold, pledging life and limb to the boy as his affirmed sole mate for the many years they had spent together in that dreadful place with smiles on their faces. It was truly a scene to behold, watching as they both grew tremendously within themselves and their better halves almost to the point where they were bound forever together and to the realm, which Dante refused to see happen.

When he opposed to officiate the marriage of Nero to Vergil, his reasons became clear: getting married in Hell meant that was where you would prosper and raise your kin with no way out. Dante refused those grounds with the knowledge of their full lives ahead of them and began researching the proper methods to escort them back to human life unscathed in that big brown leather book of his. "I don't want to see Vergil suffering that loss all over again."

This was not the future Sparda has envisioned for his children. "It doesn't hurt him, does it? You are basically removing everything that made him Vergil in the first place."

Dante shook his head. "Physically, no: a quick slice down his arm with Yamato does little to him, but I can't say how it will affect him emotionally. He keeps a lot hidden from me, and for me to guess what he's going through without being with him for some time is fairly difficult." He knew his brother better than anyone, but to say his sibling fully trusted him with the countless thoughts that swarm his head on a daily basis was another conversation entirely. "I do get what you're saying, but he's still Vergil: the mood swings, the dead face, the uptight diction, it's all still there. The only way for things to come flooding back is if he gets impaled by it while wielded by another, overhauling him in his passive state and he turns into that ruthless killer I took so fucking long to get rid of." Sparda clicked on Dante's level, his son holding up a single finger to stop his thought. "And don't even say it – I won't get rid of the swords."

This wasn't what a father wanted to hear – why he bothered was a conundrum he had yet to figure out. "Yamato tells me he cut himself earlier-"

"By his own hand – he wouldn't dare hurt Vergil under his own control."

Sparda nodded. "I trust you're taking the boy's interests to heart as well."

It wasn't a question. "I am; it would be cruel to wipe away the single best thing that's ever happened to him, considering his previous life was nothing short of disaster, but I will make sure everything he is out to achieve will be fulfilled – his dreams, aspirations, goals, everything he has worked hard for and deserves will be his." He thought back to the conversation they had on his first day in Hell; the car crash, the violence and abuse, the desperate need to witness karma at its strongest at the risk of his own well-being – Nero was a force to be reckoned with his own right, and with no knowledge of what a person he was to the very same Vergil he was meant to marry was upsetting. He was one in seven billion, and Dante vowed to never let him out of his sight since the first day of his new life.

It seemed Sparda had the same itch his son did. "Dante, you don't have to do this-"

"He made me promise to make him suffer, and that's what I'm going to do. As long as he's the only family I have, I will do anything he asks to ensure as peaceful of a transition as possible. I'm doing all he's asking, but why can't that be justified with giving something I believe he's earned?"

Sparda refused to look at his king, but at the same time savoured the emotional bond the twins had. "Is this what you want?"

It pained Dante to admit it as much as his father had to voice it. "I want more than him being happy, father – I want him to have the life he threw away for my sake. It's selfish of me to take away the demonic influence, but his power will remain. Just dormant, locked away until he could miraculously regain his memory and find the key to the cage. He will be as human as he thinks he is." Dante sought to go further, explaining to his father the basis for his reasoning of the demonic retraction. "Vergil cannot utilise his true strength because he was killed. The most I could do was bring him back half the man he was with his demon side taking most of the blow. The same goes for Nero but he was human in death, fitting for him to be human in life – his essence stayed behind and found another host to feed on, making the transition much better for him; I gave him a better family; I watched over him every day for years only to surface as a grown man at my place of work. You can imagine how relieved I was, now that Vergil has a fighting chance to live the way he's dreamed to."

Did Dante believe that? "And human. He won't like it."

"He won't, but he hasn't been a full hybrid for a while now; I doubt he'd feel the difference."

The purple demon heaved a heavy sigh, expelling purple regret into the atmosphere. "So what is it that you're actually doing to him? He's losing his mind to regain full humanity?"

"I'm releasing the dependency grip on me, father. Besides, he's already mad. He lost his mind at losing Nero the first time." The thought alone nearly brought Dante to tears, closing his eyes tightly forget yet seeing the image burned under his eyelids. "He didn't know the ritual could be performed on him too, and because it could only be done once per the sun cycle he thought he was gone for good. It was just one day-"

"Son, if you don't mind I'd prefer to not be reminded of what a terrible father I've been for the past two hundred and odd years." Dante could hear the lump in his father's throat; he really did hate that he missed the moments he wasn't given the opportunity to want to miss. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for both of your sakes. Give him what he needs and come back to the Underworld." The projection was fading. The last few drops of Dante's blood were steadily finding their way to penetrate the leather cover. "In the meantime, be nice to your brother; don't taint what sanity he has left."

"He does that to himself." It was true; human life was so much more stressful than the demonic one. "But I will; that smile kept me going in Hell, and knowing he'll do it more often will sustain me wherever I am."

Sparda nodded. "What about the amulets?"

"They are safe. Very safe."

"Where are they?"

"In my room."

"Wow, how safe-"

"Ask Vergil where my room is; he won't have an answer for you."

The image was fading faster. "I love you both very much. Don't forget that."

"Good. I'll keep you posted." Rebellion was almost squeaky clean. "I have an appointment with bluey behind me; I'll see you soon."

Dante grabbed at the hilt as a last effort to hear Sparda's parting words. "Goodbye son. Look out for him, okay?"

He offered a wink to his parent. "Always."

In a shimmering light the purple air turned to dust, his hand leaving the hilt for the few seconds he took to handle Yamato carefully. The blue flames wavered more powerfully at his touch, being the only other soul it communicated to other than Vergil: he laid the steel next to him as he chanted the incantation for the ink inside the book to swirl up the blade like a blood-soaked snake covered in hundreds of different words and phrases. Rebellion vibrated under the pressure, setting alight to lessen the burden of the spiral of emotion it just sucked dry from the pages it currently impaled. What followed was a cloud of red dust expelling from the sparkling blade accompanied by bright embers of anger and intrigue, love and pain, feasting hunger at the commanding hands of his brother's own tortured spirit.

Dante removed the sword as the hilt burned into his hand, dispensing the retrieved suffering of the quarantined whispers not permitted to see the light of day and breathed them into the warm air to form part of the atmosphere, living without a body and in the shadows where they belonged. He ripped the skin from his hand at detaching Rebellion from his grasp, hanging his trusted companion on his designated spot. But it wasn't over just yet: the ultimate warrior was unsheathed in all its glory, glinting with no sunlight and blinding Dante of its awesome power that had been forcefully locked away the day Vergil roamed the human domain – slicing at the third degree burn on his hand, he followed the same procedure with Yamato, but this time the book seemed to heal with the strength implanted in the weapon. "Make it believable this time, would you buddy?" Dante released the sword as it worked its magic, drowning the page with enigmatic scripture in Vergil's tone and style; the katana shot out of the literature at lightning speed and Dante caught it single-handedly, returning it to its sheath and finally its small shelf above the balcony door.

The twin picked up the novel to inspect its handiwork. "Let's see what you've got for us, shall we?"

The book was the key – ever-changing and poking its head where it didn't belong, the leather bound literary object was designed to steal a part of its reader's soul to feed and pass on to Dante's damned soul in the confines of Hell: every flip of the pages sucked the unknowing reader deeper and deeper into its hex, drinking at the influx of fresh essence and gathering it all for one purpose. Dante altered the content based on the variety of emotional power at the reader's disposal, gathering a myriad of experiences at once that would later be changed into fodder for the part of him still trapped in the fiery depths below; it held onto the remnants of Vergil's demonic lifeblood and mingled with that the extract of human emotion as sustenance for him to return to his previous form. He sustained his power with every word written and reread by his brother, indulging in the substance that tainted the soul he was creating inside of him.

 _It was a different experience for Vergil each time; Nero felt empty after his first read-through._

Dante remembered hearing those words from behind Vergil's bedroom door at the same moment he soothed the weapons' distress after the unexpected violent reaction to one half of the amulet's fading core. It gave reason to panic, which is something he couldn't possibly do. "Not too bad; you kept the themes intact. This is much better than the last time." He paged through the first few pieces of scripture pointing out the subtle differences to the text, but differences no less. "I won't lie – you've done better in the past, but I doubt he'd notice." Dante walked the outline of the carpet chewing on his fingers. "I'm just critiquing as per normal, pal. You're the smart one, remember?" A few steps into the book and he suddenly halted, a fake hurt expression and an evil eye was aimed at the blue sword. "Hey, that was uncalled for. A little true, but uncalled for."

Yamato was talking to him in a language that could only be heard by monarchs of the realm, the undeniable blood trait of their father that Vergil had lost contact with for some time yet was still able to drag himself from his well of self-pity to give him one last taste of what the weapon craved most – blood. "You don't need to remind me. I'll handle it, but you need to keep your voice down or daddy will hear you and he'll turn into that thing again." He hit the halfway mark and huffed. "Be sorry all you want; it won't change anything. But Nero has been through worse, so a point to you." He carried on reading, keeping his place as he turned to the weapon. "Never say that: what we're doing is bad and there's no other way around it. I'm following orders against my better conscience because I know that it's what he wants in the hope that it will end his suffering." He pointed a stern finger driving the point home and the sword seemingly backed down. "Absolutely nothing will happen to you, but you can't get too close to them. One cut not under my command and everything goes back to normal – they'll be in danger of the worst magnitude, and even with knowing that you almost killed them both."

He was at the final portion of it, the last homestretch for the overflow to soak into the paper. "Just a few more. Then we'll have big choices to make. For now, rest. I'm always close by. Call out to me when you need an ear, alright? I'll come through when I can." Dante closed it and placed it back on the shelf in its designated spot between Vergil's collection. "Rebel, don't be a bitch to him okay? I know how bad you can get with the teasing." There was a tiny vibration on the wall; the swords having at it in broad daylight. "I mean, you can still do it, but pipe it down a notch." Dante moved the desk back in its proper place, smoothing the carpet underneath and returning the room back to its untouched state, ensuring that none of the abrasions on his palm were anywhere to be seen. Opening the door quietly once more, he snuck a peek on the mini-balcony and over the railing, honing in on the fluctuating heartbeats of the two inhabitants – he moved over the threshold out of plain view should one of the swords react out of order at his final remark. "And FYI, you're only stronger because I made him weaker, so please fight about something else this time." He dropped the metaphorical mic in his hand; making fun of something that could possibly kill him was his specialty.

The study hissed behind him; his long, robust legs taking him down the stairs in record time to assume a meaningless position in the kitchen. Dante's bowl of fresh strawberries had yet to fail him, seizing them from the fridge and setting it down quietly and holding the ceramic surface to cool down the dead giveaway that it just came from immense cold. Stilling his inner demon, Dante set his weight on his forearms and tucked into the fruit, the fifth piece just entering his mouth as his brother and his new obsession cracked through the sealed door. Nero dragged his feet through it, hair matted to his face but not a drop of water to be seen. "I see someone had fun." Vergil followed, revitalised from his dip and looking immaculate in his grey bathrobe. "And I see someone's enjoying it way too much."

Vergil ran behind him and gave him a sweet kiss on his cheek. "I think I broke him again, Dante."

Nero adamantly shook his head. "That wasn't as bad as last night, Vergil."

Dante, nonchalantly chewing on his fruit, perked up the second the sentence left Nero's mouth and giving his brother an appreciative look of pride. Vergil wasn't one to divulge in the intimate details of his bedroom exploits and turned beet red, missing his brother's look by the skin of his teeth. "Please tell me this will be the last time you complain about something I did that you asked me to do."

The victim moved around the counter to stand next to the fascinated twin stealing one of his precious treasures from underneath his nose. "I'm not complaining. Do you hear me complaining, Dante?"

He slowly pushed it into his mouth, savouring every juicy bite of the plump, rich fruit and pulling his fingers out of his mouth seductively with the knowledge of being watched by both gorgeous beasts. Vergil raised a testing eyebrow at him, taunting those talented fingers of his to drift further into his throat; Dante had just swallowed one whole, Nero's eyes glazed in honeyed voluptuous ecstasy as fire met ice in their connected gaze. "I'm a little conflicted because on the one hand I want to agree with you but on the other you just took a strawberry without asking-" The poor boys eyes enlarged in their sockets for the concealed hand taking time out at the centre of is back, "-but he wasn't complaining. He was just pointing it out." Dante was playing a treacherous game, feeling the nakedness underneath Nero's robe and running a single finger up his spine to ruffle his hair. "Like the good boy he is." Not so good after all, seeing as he was in the process of claiming payback for him and his brother by relaxing his hand on what he could safely assume was Nero's ass; all curved and squishy for the demon to enjoy out of view from his possessive brother.

Having one on him and one staring him down at a distance was a new form of Heaven he wanted to sink his teeth into. "You're meant to take my side regardless of when I'm wrong." A sincere, unyielding face watched the younger man as he feasted on his brother's favourite treat, teasing him with the innocence he kept in the back-pocket Dante threw far away at the beginning of the weekend. Vergil held his gaze for as long as Nero could bear before the intensity turned to heroine pumping through his veins, alternating between holding his own in Dante's grasp and his twin's handsome, intoxicating eyes. "Give me a few minutes to freshen up?" It wasn't a question; it sounded like one though.

He trod up the stairs without another word and Nero was thankful he only had to deal with one body part set alight. "He always does that. Gets you all hot and heavy and then walks away." Nero's best option to get through the day in one piece would have been to trek to his room for a change of attire, but this weekend was all about going against his better judgement; besides, it was more the fact of being so close to Dante completely naked that drove him away from the logical aspect of clothing.

"That's Vergil though; he won't finish you off until you've proved you've earned it. Unless he's out to get you in which case you have no hope of-" but then it dawned on him; the student was too defensive after a glorious romp in a wet environment, and when he had stepped out of the room he appeared content to the extent that his brother would have allowed. That was the only bad character trait he possessed: not pushing himself to the limits he was blatantly aware of and indulging in the spoils of forbidden fruit that he had yet to harvest out of his own body. "Oh, did he leave your sweet nimble body hanging?"

Dante was in the mood to mess with him just as much as Nero wanted to be messed with: they took the same position that got him in trouble in the first place, with Dante standing directly him in all his glory, pushing him into the counter and boxing him in like the feasting prey he was. Wrapping his arm around the quivering form, he tweezed a strawberry out of place and into Nero's mouth; the three fingers he used was now being sucked to a pulp, mingling bits of berry between them and being pulled out of his hollow cheeks clean as a whistle. Dante's skin prickled on his arm, drunk on the sensations the student was practically forcing out of him, yet still sane enough to mentally fight with himself in doing the unexpected – again, he tugged at the thick belt of the robe and watched the item fall open from behind, the student clawing at the edge of the counter doing absolutely nothing to stop him. "Nothing… a cup of coffee… can't fix."

Oh, so that's how he wanted to play it? "I can talk to him if you want." The evil man behind him relieved all contact and went for the bowl, chomping deathly close to Nero's ear that he could hear the fluids swirling and make their way down his sexy, deep throat, and could only imagine how sticky and fragrant his lips must be, how sweet he would taste after eating so many of the blissful, out-of-season treats. He stayed rigid in his position, his bare skin touching the sinful air of Dante he breathed in willingly and deeply, until the twin took the final step in sealing his fate in nipping at the shell of his ear, a breathy moan depicting just how much control he needed keeping his hands respectably at bay.

One more wouldn't hurt, right? Nero dove into the bowl headfirst, grinding on Dante's full frontal disaster and turned with a piece of fruit dangling his mouth; with his lips wrapped around it tightly, a small nod in the editor's direction made him bend forward and salvage it from its ungodly prison. "No need." The boy was ruthless, untucking his t-shirt and having his counterpart peel it off for an unsurpassed scrutiny of the sin he had gotten a taste of yet not fully encountered; it was strenuous to ignore the specimen that had been there all along, feeling his way along the uneven terrain that was flesh and potential of the highest feasible number on his competence scale. Words couldn't describe the unveiling image staring him the face, Dante becoming increasingly cognizant of the pull on the man, allowing him to do as he pleased in the short time they had. He boxed him in again, moving closer into Nero's palms before doing what he saw Nero wanted him to, lifting him onto his arms and wrapping his legs around his muscled waist.

As he'd said many times before… he'd do anything.


End file.
